My? Boy Next Door
by calskies
Summary: Troy and Gabriella have never met. They work for rival papers. What happens when they do meet and sparks fly, but Troy is pretending to be some one else? Troyella and Chaylor
1. Chapter 1

Alright…This is my idea for a new story

**Alright…This is my idea for a new story. I got the idea from a book I read called **_The Boy Next Door by Meg Cabot. _

**Gabriella works for the New York Times(don't own) and Troy works for the New York Chronicle(don't own…don't know if there is one). They don't know each other. Until Ryan calls a favor in for Troy. Then Troy and Gabriella meet, but Troy isn't Troy he is pretending to be Ryan Evans. Things happen. The story is told only by email. It's a Troyella of course!! With Chaylor.**

**So….what do you think?? Should I do it?? If I do I'm going to wait until I finish my other story. I really like the idea. I want to do the story, but I want to hear my readers opinions. So tell me what you think!! **

**Life's a rollercoaster and I want to ride**

**Calli**


	2. Chapter 2

Alright, I decided to go ahead and do the story

**Alright, I decided to go ahead and do the story. That means that Importance, it varies with people…is on hiatus. I will finish it once I get done with this story. In case any of you are wondering how long this story is going to be, I really can't answer your question. I really don't plan out my stories. I just go with the flow of it. Well, I guess you are wondering when I'm going to get on with the story. First of all I want to dedicate this chapter to 2 people: **_nesquick-s _**and **_laughnsmile96. _**They were the first 2 people to encourage me to do the story. Thanks a BUNCH guys!! Alright, here we go!!**

**To: **GabbyMontez

**From: **HumanResources

**Subject: **Tardiness

Dear Gabriella Montez,

This is an automated message from the Human Resources Dept. of the _New York Journal, _New York City's leading photo-newspaper. Please be aware that according to your **managing editor Dave Matusi,** your workdays here at the _Journal _begin promptly at **9AM,** making you **68 **minutes tardy today. This is your **37th** tardy exceeding 20 minutes this year, **Gabriella Montez **

We here at the Human Resources Dept. are not "out to get" tardy employees, as we mentioned in last week's unfairly worded employee newsletter. Tardiness is a serious and expensive issue with employers all over America. Employees often make a light of tardiness, but routine lateness can often be a symptom of a more serious issue such as:

alcoholism

drug addiction

gambling addiction

abusive domestic partner

sleep disorders

clinical depression

And any number of other conditions. If you are suffering from any of the above, please don't hesitate to contact your Human Resources Representative, **Martha Cox**. Your Human Resource Representative will be more than happy to enroll you in the _New York Journal_'s Staff Assistance Program, where you will be paired with a mental health professional that will help you reach full potential.

**Gabriella Montez, **we here at the _New York Journal _are a team. We win as a team, and we lose as one, as well. **Gabriella Montez **don't you want to be apart of a winning team? So, seriously, do your part and show up on time!

Sincerely,

Human Resources Dept.

New York Journal

**Please note that any future tardiness may lead to suspension or dismissal.**

Next EmailNext emailGM

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From:** Taylor McKessie

**Subject: **You got some 'splanin to do missy!

Gab, where were you?? I saw Martha Cox from Human Resources lurking around your cubicle. I think that you're in for another one of those tardy notices. What is it, your sixty-seventh??

You better have a good excuse this time, because I overheard Dave say a little while ago that gossip columnists are a dime a dozen, and that he could get Hayli Lorton over here with a snap of his fingers to replace you if he wanted to. I think he was kidding, but it was hard to tell the Coke machine was broken. You know how Dave gets when he hasn't had his Mug Root Beer yet.

By the way did something happen with you and Jason last night?? He's been playing Mr. Mope all morning in his cubicle. You know how bad this bugs Dave. So, what happened?? Did you have another fight??

We on for lunch later??

Tay :)

**Jason Drama GM**

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Jason Cross

**Subject: **Last night

Gabby, where are you?? Are you going to be totally childish about this and not come into the office until you're sure I've left?? Is that your problem?? If it is then we can sit down and talk about this like we're adults.

Jason Cross

Senior Correspondent

New Your Journal

**SBSBSBSBSBSBSBSBSBSBSBSBSBSBSBSBSBSBSBSBSBSBSBSB**

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Sharpay Baylor

**Subject: **Jason Cross

Gabriella-

Don't get the wrong idea, honey, I wasn't spying on you, but a girl would have to be BLIND to not to have noticed how you smacked Jason Cross last night at Pastia. (**AN made up. if there is one out there that I didn't know about…don't own that one) **You probably didn't even see me there; I was at the bar having a martini, and looked around because I swore I heard your name being called. Wait-weren't you supposed to be covering the Prada and Gucci show??**(AN- Don't own those either) **Anyway, then all of a sudden there was Altoids and Revlon all over the place.

Darlin', it was precious.

You have really great aim, you know. But I highly doubt that Kate Spade wanted her purses to be used as a projectile. If she did the clasp would be stronger, you know for scraping their face while you're backhanding them.

Seriously, honey, I need to know: Is it all over between you and Jason?? Because I never thought you two clicked very well. I mean anyone could've written that story about the little Somalia boy. The part about his sister selling her body to provide him with rice…puh-leaze.

I sure hope you aren't going to be difficult about this. Because I've got an invite to the Steven's place in the Hamptons, and I was thinking of inviting Jason to mix cocktails for me, but if you're going to be difficult. I won't I don't want you going all Joan Collins on me.

XXXOOO

Sharpay

P.S.: You really should've called if you weren't going to be in today. I saw that little whale-like person (Martha something??) from Human Resources sneaking around your desk earlier.

**DMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDM**

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Dave Matusi 

**Subject: **Where the hell are you?

Again I repeat, Where the hell are you? Are you under the impression that your off days don't have to be approved by your employer?

This isn't convincing me that you can be front page material Montez. More like copy room material.

Dave

**JCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJCJC**

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Jason Cross

**Subject: **Last night

This is really beneath you Gabriella. I mean me and Kelsi were in a war zone for God's sake! Anti-aircraft fire was exploding left and right. We though we'd be captured at any moment. Can't you understand that?

It was nothing Gabriella, I swear!

I should have never told you, my God. I though you'd be able to handle it! Then to pull this disappearing act…

Well, I have to say I never expected it from a woman like you, that's all I'm going to say.

Jason Cross

Senior Correspondent

New Your Journal

**TMTMTMTMTMTMTMTMTMTMTMTMTMTMTMTMTMTMTMTMTMTM**

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Taylor McKessie

**Subject: **NOT Funny girl

Gab, where are you?? I'm really startin to get worried. Can't you call me, at the very least? I hope you didn't get hit by a metro bus or something. But, if you did we would have gotten a call because you would have had your press pass with you.

Okay, I'm not so worried that you're dead. I'm really worried that you're going to lose your job, and I'm going to have to resort to eating lunch with Sharpay again. I was forced to order with her. You hear me, forced. Since you're MIA all of a sudden, and let me tell ya. It nearly killed me!! The woman ordered a SALAD. With no dressing. Are you hearing me? NO DRESSING.

Of course since no one has a perfect enough body for her, she commented on every bite I put into my mouth. "Do you know how many grams of fat are in that fry?" "A good substitute for mayonnaise is low-fat yogurt Taylor."

I want to tell her what to do with her low-fat yogurt.

Just to let you know Cross is going around and saying you're doing all of this because of what went down between you two last night.

If that doesn't get you in here ASAP. I don't know what will.

Tay :)

**DMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDM**

**To: **Dave Matusi

**From: **Gabby Montez

**Subject: **Where the hell I was

Since you find it so important, you and Martha Cox, to know what I am doing every minute of the day. I am going to provide you with a detailed summary of my morning.

Ready? Got your Root Beer?

Gabby's Morning:

7:15- Alarm rings. Hit snooze button.

7:20- Alarm rings. Hit snooze button.

7:25- Alarm rings. Hit snooze button.

7:26- Wake up to the sound of my neighbor's dog barking. Turn off alarm.

7:27- Stagger to the bathroom. Perform morning routine.

7:55- Stagger to my kitchen. Ingest nourishment in form of Nutrigrain bar and Tuesday night's take-out.

7:56- Neighbor's dog still barking.

7:57- Blow dry hair.

8:10- Check Channel One for weather.

8:11- Neighbor's dog still barking.

8:12- Attempt to find something to wear.

8:30- Give up. Pull on black skirt, black shirt, and black sling-back flats.

8:35- Grab black bag. Look for keys.

8:40- Find keys. Leav apartment.

8:41- Notice that Mrs. Evans copy of the _Chronicle _is still on her doorstep. ( Yes, Dave my neighbor subscribes to our biggest rival)

8:42- Notice that Mrs. Evans dog is still barking. Knock on door to make sure everything's alright.

8:45- After repeated knocks Mrs. Evans doesn't come to the door,but her dog Buffy keeps on barking louder every time.

8:46- Try to open Mrs. Evans door, it is oddly enough unlocked. Let myself inside.

8:47- Greeted by German Shepard and 2 Siamese cats. No sign of Mrs. Evans.

8:48- Find Mrs. Evans lying face down on living room carpet.

Got it Dave? The woman was lying face down on her living room carpet. What is this city coming to? I mean who would do that to an eighty-year old woman?? So, I called 911, and waited until the cops came. They said that she had been struck on the back of the head! I mean- old ladies aren't even safe in their own apartments any more!

I think there's a story here-and I should be the one to write it.

Whadduya say Dave?

Gabby

**DMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDM**

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Dave Matusi

**Subject:** There's a story here

There's a story here alright, only I haven't heard it yet. The story I want to hear is why you weren't here. I mean just because your neighbor got whacked in the head you couldn't even call someone to let them know that you weren't coming in?

There's a story I'd really like to hear

Dave

**So……what'd ya think?? It's not the best because your just getting into the story. It's not one of my faborite chapters. Troy should come in the next chapter. Maybe Chad. I'm about 95 sure they will, but you never know?!**

**Halloween's coming up!! What are you going to be?? I'd love to know. And if you don't know yet that's okay, you can tell me what you though of the story! Well, you don't have to but I'd like it if you did.**

**Well, I'm giving everyone oodles and oodles of virtual candy right now!! :) My favorite Halloween candy is……those peanut butter chewy things, I really don't know what their called, but one of my friends back home her mom makes homemade ones……They are HEAVEN!! Tell me what your favorite Halloween candy is.. I'd love to know!!**

**Calli :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks SO much guys

**Thanks SO much guys!! Alright onto the chapter :)**

**Chapter 2**

**By: msbball8 aka Calli  
**

**To: **Dave Matusi

**From: **Gabby Montez

**Subject: ** Where I was

Dave-

You are so heartless. I found my neighbor facedown on her living room floor, obviously someone had attacked her, and you want me to worry about calling my employer to say "Hey, I'm going to be late."

I'm sorry Dave, but the thought didn't even cross my mind. I mean Mrs. Evans is my friend! I was going to go with her in the ambulance, but there was a problem with Buffy.

I guess I should say the big problem of Buffy. Buffy is Mrs. Evans German Shepard. He weighs a hundred and twenty pounds, Dave. That's more than I weigh.  
And he needed to go out, badly.  
After I took him out I fed him and gave him water and did the same with Tweedledee and Mr. Peppers, her cats. (Tweedledum sadly, expired last year.) While I was doing this, the cops were checking for forced entry. But there was none.  
Do you know what this means Dave? It means that she probably knew her own attacker. She probably let him in on her own will! What was even stranger was that she had 276 in cash in her purse that was untouched. Ditto with her jewelry. Dave, this was no robbery.

Dave, why don't you believe there's a story here? Something went wrong. Very wrong.  
When I finally got to the hospital I was informed that Mrs. Evans was in surgery. Doctors were trying to relieve pressure on her brain from a huge blood clot that formed beneath her skull! What the hell was I supposed to do Dave? Leave her there? I'm all she has.  
It took them twelve hours. Twelve hours. I had to go to the apartment and walk Buffy twice before they finished the surgery. And then, once it was done the doctors told me it was only partly successful. Mrs. Evans is in a coma. And guess what Dave; she may never come out of it.  
And until she does guess who's stuck taking care of Buffy, Tweedledee, and Mr. Peppers? Guess. Me.  
I don't want sympathy. I know. I should of called. But work wasn't my first priority Dave.

You know, her husband was Henry Evans, of the Evans twisty fortune. You know, the twist-ties that go on garbage bags? She worth 6 or 7 million at least. Come on Dave let me do the story. I can't keep doing Page Ten forever.

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Dave Matusi

**Subject: **You can't keep me doing Page Ten forever

Yes I can.  
And do you know why? Because I am the managing editor, and I can do whatever I want.  
Besides, Montez we need you on Page Ten.  
Would you like to know why?

Because you care Montez. You care about Britney Spears legal battles. You care whether Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens are on or off again. And you care whether Rihanna's boobs, and whether they are silicone or not.  
Admit it Montez, you care.  
The other thing ain't a story, Montez. Old ladies get whacked on the back of their heads for their Social Security checks everyday.

It's called a cell phone. Next time call.

Kapeesh?

Now get me a copy on the Prada opening.

Dave

**To: **Dave Matusi

**From: **Gabby Montez

**Subject: **I don't care about Rihanna's boobs……

…and you'll be sorry for not letting me run with the Evans story, Dave I'm telling you, there's something there. I can feel it in my toes.  
And by the way, Zac and Vanessa will always be together.

Gabby

P.S Who doesn't care about Britney? Her boys are so cute!

**To: **Human Resources

**From: **Gabby Montez

**Subject: **My Tardiness

Dear Human Resources-

What can I say? You caught me. I guess my

- Alcoholism

- Drug addiction

- gambling addiction

- Abusive domestic partner

- sleep disorders

- Clinical depression

And any other conditions that have caused me to hit rock bottom. Please enroll me in the Staff Assistance Program right away! If you could hook me up with a shrink that looks like Matt Damon and conducts his sessions with his shirt off, I'd appreciate it.  
Because the primary condition I'm suffering from is that I'm a twenty-seven year old woman living in New York City, and I cannot find a decent guy. Just one guy who won't cheat on me, doesn't live with his mother, and isn't turning to the Arts section of the _Chronicle _first thing Sunday morning, if you know what I mean. Is that asking so much??

See if your Staff Assistance Program can handle that.

Gabby Montez  
Gossip Columnist

New York Journal

**To: **Jason Cross

**From: **Gabriella Montez

**Subject: **Can't we sit down and discuss this like adults?

There's nothing to discuss. Really, Jason, I'm sorry for throwing my bag at you. It was a childish outburst that I deeply regret.

And I don't want you to think that the reason we're breaking up has anything to do with Kelsi. Let's face it Jason, we're just too different: You like Stephen Hawking. I like Stephen King.  
You know it never would have worked.

Gabby

**To: **Sharpay Baylor

**From: ** Gabby Montez

**Subject:** Jason Cross

I did not throw my bag. It slipped out of my hand when I was reaching for my drink and it accidentally flew through the air and hit him in the eye.

If you want Jason, you can have him Sharpay.

Gabby

**To: **Taylor McKessie

**From: **Gabby Montez

**Subject:** Where I was

Ok, ok, I get it. I should've called. The whole thing was a total nightmare. But get this. You are never going to believe it:

Jason cheated on me, in Egypt.

That's right. And you're never going to believe who with. Seriously Tay, try and guess who with. You never will.

Ok, I'll tell you: Kelsi Nielson.

Yup. You read that correctly: Kelsi Nielson, respected news reporter for CNN. Voted one of _People _magazine's one hundred most beautiful people last month.  
Can you believe she slept with JASON?? I mean could have George Clooney for Pete's sake. What would she want with JASON??  
Not that I didn't suspect. I always thought that the stories he kept emailing were way too smug.

You know how I found out? Get this. He TOLD me. He felt that he was "ready to reach the next level of intimacy" with me (three guesses as to what THAT is), and in order to do so he felt he had to "make a clean breast" of it. He says ever since it happened "guilt has been on his conscience" and that "it didn't mean anything."

God, what a jerk. I can't believe that I wasted 3 months of my boring old life on him.

Are there no decent men out there? I mean, besides Chad. I swear, Taylor, your boyfriend is the last good man on this whole earth, the last one! You hang onto him and don't let got, you hear me!

Gab

P.S Can't eat lunch with you today, have to go and walk my neighbor's dog.

P.P.S.: Don't ask long story.

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Taylor McKessie

**Subject:** That jerk

The guy did you a favor Gab. Be honest, Gabby. Did you really, honestly see a future with Jason?? I mean he smokes a PIPE for crying out loud! And all the classical music…are you kidding me?? Who does he think he is anyway?  
The man is a big phony and you know it Gab. That's why in spite of going out with him for 3 months you never slept with him.

Remember?

Tay ;)

**To: **Taylor McKessie

**From: **Gabby Montez

**Subject: **That jerk

I didn't sleep with him because of the hair. How am I supposed to sleep with someone who looks like a teenage skater boy? He didn't want me enough to get a haircut.

Am I really not worth getting a haircut for Tay? Be honest.

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Taylor McKessie

**Subject: **That jerk

Give it up Gab. You're gorgeous. The man is obviously suffering from psychotic disorder that is causing him not to see properly. We should sic Martha Cox on him. :)

Why can't you go to lunch today?? And don't worry it's not Burger Heaven. If I don't get down to a size 12 in 2 months the weddings off. Every girl in my family has worn my mothers dress. And I'm not going to be the first McKessie to get one at Nordstrom's.

Tay :)

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Taylor McKessie

**Subject: **Lunch

Can't do lunch. I have to go home and walk Mrs. Evans dog.

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez

**Cc: **Taylor McKessie

**From: **Zeke Taylor

**Subject: CONFIDENTAL **

All right girls, hold onto your Jimmy Choo boots. I got the info you requested, the salary increases for next year. It wasn't easy.

If you tell anyone where you got this information, I will accuse you both of having gambling addictions and you'll be yanked into the Staff Assistance Program so quick before either of you can unzip your boots.

Here goes:

Name:  Position: Salary:

Jack Lorton Editor in Chief 120,000

Dave Matusi Managing Editor 85,000

Sharpay Baylor Style Editor 75,000

Jason Cross Chief Correspondent 75,000

Taylor McKessie Food Critic 45,000

Gabby Montez Gossip Columnist 45,000

Martha Cox Human Resources Adminstrator 45,000

Reed it and weep girls.

Zeke Taylor

Computer Programmer

New York Journal

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Taylor McKessie

**Subject: CONFIDENTAL**

I cant believe that Martha Cox makes as much as we do! SHE doesn't do squat. She sits around and listens to people complain about their dental plan.

Please.

I was surprised about Sharpay. I'd have thought she made more. I mean, how does she keep herself in Christian Louboutin heels on a mere 75,000 a year?

Tay ;)

**To: **Taylor McKessie

**From: **Gabby Montez

**Subject:** **CONFIDENTIAL **

Are you kidding? Sharpay comes from money. Havent you ever heard her talk about her summers in the Hamptons?

I was going to ask Jason out for an I-forgive-you-drink after work- NOT to get back together with him, just so he'll stop looking so mope-ish in his cubicle, but now that I've seen how much more he makes than I do. No way jose! I KNOW I'm a better writer than he is. So, how does he get 75,000 a year while I'm stuck with 45,000, doing movie premiers and Marc Jacobs fashion shows?

Gabby

**To: **Taylor McKessie

**From: **Gabby Montez

**Subject: CONFIDENTIAL**

Um, because you're good at them?? Fashion shows and premiers, I mean.

Tay ;)

P.S.: I have to do that new Peking duck place on Brodie. Come with me.

**To: **Taylor McKessie

**From: **Gabby Montez

**Subject: **Lunch

I cant you know that. I've got to walk Buffy.

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Taylor Mckessie

**Subject: **Lunch and that dog

Ok, how long is this gonna' go on? You and that dog, I mean? I cant be going out to eat by myself. Who's going to keep me from prderinh the Double Star Cheeseburger? I am serious, this dog thing isn't working for me.

Tay ;)

**To: **Taylor McKessie

**From: **Gabby Montez

**Subject: **Lunch and that dog

What am I supposed to do Taylor? Let the poor thing sit there til he's about to bust? I know you aren't a dog person, but it's only until Mrs. Evans gets better.

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Taylor Mckessie

**Subject: **It's only until Mrs. Evans gets better

And when the heck is THAT going to be? Earth to Gab. Come on, the woman is in a COMA okay? She is COMATOSE. I think alternative arrangements need to be made for her pets. You are a DOORMAT. A COMATOSE woman is using you as a DOORMAT.

The woman has to have some relatives, Gab. FIND THEM.

Tay :(

**To: **Gabby Montez 

**From: **Jason Cross

**Subject: **Forgive me

**Ok I am SOOOOOOOOOOOOO Sorry for not getting Troy and Chad into this chapter like I said I would. I SWEAR on my cell phone that Troy and Chad will be in the next chapter which will probably be up tomorrow since I don't have school. YAY!! **

**This chapter is again dedicated to **_nesquick-s _**she is one of the most awesome people out there!! **

**Review please!! Tell me what your favorite Halloween candy is?? You know what mine was a couple of days ago. I changed it :) It is now Reese's I LOVE those things. Also, tell me what your going to be for Halloween. I'd love to know I'm the Halloween fairy!! PM me if you want to know what that is!! I LUV LUV LUV all you faithful readers who stick with me when my schedule is so crazy! LOVE YA!! **

**Calli :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3  
by: msbball8 aka Calli**

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Jason Cross**  
Subject: **Forgive me

I don't know where to begin. I can't stand this. I'll tell you what "this" is.

"This" is sitting here all day, seeing you in your cubicle knowing that you said you never want to speak to me again.

"This" is watching you walk towards me thinking that you've changed your mind, and only have you walk by without even sending a glance in my direction.

"This" is knowing that you'll walk out of here at the end of the day, and I have no idea where you'll be going, what you'll be doing, and that an extremely long amount of time will pass before you walk through the doors the next day.

"This" is-or I should say "these are"?-the countless amount of hours where my mind leaves me and follows you out the door going nowhere, and getting right back to where I started, thinking about "this"

Jason Cross  
Senior Correspondent  
New York Journal

**To: **Jason Cross**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **"This"

That was really moving Jason. Have you ever thought about writing fiction for a living?

Seriously, I think you've got real talent.

Gabby

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Chad Danforth**  
Subject: **We got e-mail!!

Tay!! Look!! We got e-mail!!  
Isn't it righteous? Anyway just thought I'd say hi. Now we can e-mail each other all day long!

What are you wearing? How come you never wear that bustier I got you?

Hey, by the way, my uncle Jared is throwing us an engagement party next weekend. Nothing fancy just a pool party out in Long Island by his house. So keep Saturday free!

Love you,  
Chad

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject: **Another one

Look, Chad's uncle Jared is throwing us an engagement party (yes, another one) and I'm tellng you right now, YOU HAVE TO COME. Seriously, Gab, I don't think I can handle another round of Danforths without you. You know what their like.

And this one has a pool. You know there going to throw me in. You and I both know it.  
Say you'll come and prevent me from being humiliated. PLEASE.

Tay :0

P.S.: Don't give me the damn dog excuse again.

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **I can't

You know I cant go. How am I supposed to go all the way to Long Island when I have Buffy to think about? You know he has to go out every four or five hours. My Steve Maddens are getting worn out as is, running back and forth between the office and my apartment building, trying to get there in time. No way can I go out to Long Island, the poor thing might explode!

Gabby

P.S.: Sarah-you know the supermodel, and Donald Trump's latest arm candy dumped him! She dumped Donald! It's said he's devastated, and she went into hiding.  
Poor things, I really thought they were going to work out.

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject: **Buffy

This is totally ridiculous Gabby, you cannot put you life on hold for this woman's dog. She must have some family out there that can do it. FIND THEM.

You've done enough, for Pete's sake. I mean you probably saved her life. Let someone else take care of her pet's digestive schedule.  
I mean it. I am not getting into that pool without you. If you don't find this woman's next of kin. I will.

Tay :(

**To: **Taylor McKessie

**From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject:** Buffy

It's easy for you to say let someone else handle Paco. The big question is WHO?

Mrs. Evans's only living relative is her nephew, Ryan, and not even the cops can find him to tell him what happened. I know he lives somewhere in the city, but his phone number's unlisted. Apparently, he's some up-and-coming photographer. At least according to his aunt. And, quite popular with the ladies…hence the unlisted number, I assume so the ladies' husbands and boyfriends cant track him down.  
And of course his aunt doesn't have his phone number written down because she obviously had it memorized.  
In any case what do I do? I cant put the poor thing in a kennel. H's already freaked out enough, with his owner being…you know. How can I leave him locked up in a cage somewhere? Seriously, Tay, if you saw his eyes, you couldn't do it either. He's the sweetest thing I ve ever seen, including nephews.  
If only he were a man I'd marry him. I swear.

Gabby

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Chad Danforth**  
Subject:** What do you mean you're not going?

Taylor, you HAVE to go. The party is for YOU. Well, you and me , but that's beside the point. You cant not go!  
And don't give me any of that bull about you don't want my family to see you in a swimsuit. How many times do I have to tell you that you're the hottest girl in the world? Do you honestly think I care what size you wear? You got it goin' on girl.  
You should only wear the thongs I bought you more often.  
I don't understand why it's such a big deal that Gabby goes. Why do women always have to do things together? It doesn't make any sense.  
Besides, if you feel that strongly about it, just tell them that you have swimmer's ear and cant get in the water.  
Jeez. I don't get you women. I really don't.

Chad

**To: **Gabby Montez

**Cc: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Sharpay Baylor**  
Subject: **Your little problem

Darlings:  
I couldn't help but overhear your little problem in the ladies room. I was occupied or else I would have joined in (we really should tell someone how narrow those stalls are.)  
First of all Gabby, honey, Ryan Evans didn't just have any old picture in the Whitney-which you would know if you ever stepped foot outside of Blockbuster long enough to see some real culture. He has a stunning self-portrait on display there, in which he was…lets just say in the nude. But, if you ask me the man's a photographic genius.  
Though that might not be where his true talent lies, from judging that photo…if you get my drift.  
I'm sure you do.  
Anyway, he has, for reasons profound to me, chosen to cheapen his gift by prostituting himself out for photo shoots such as, last winters _Sports Illustrated _swimsuit edition. And he just finished up the Victoria's Secret Christmas catalog, I believe.  
All you have to do, children, is contact those people and ask how to get a hold of him.  
Well, ta ta for now.

XXXOOO

Sharpay

P.S.: Oh, Gabby, about Jason. Look, cant you throw him a bone to chew? He's no good like this. And him being all mopey is giving me a migraine.

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

Listen, thanks to Sharpay, I think I've finally tracked down Ryan Evans!  
At least, no one seems to have his number, but I've got an email address. Help me draft a note to him. You know I suck at groveling.

Gabby

**To: **Ryan Evans**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **Your aunt

Dear Mr. Evans,  
I hope you get this. You are probably not aware that the police have been trying to contact you for several days now. I am sorry to inform you that your aunt, Lorna Evans, has been seriously injured. She was a victim of assault in her own apartment.  
She is currently listed in critical condition at New York Memorial Hospital. Unfortunately, she is in a coma, and the doctors have no way of knowing if she will ever come out of it.  
Please, Mr. Evans, if you get this message, call me as soon as possible on my cell phone 917-243-9643, if you prefer, email me. We need to discuss how you think your aunt's pets should be cared for while she's in the hospital.  
I know this is the last thing you need to be worried about right now, considering how grave your aunt's condition is, seeing how much of an animal lover your aunt is I think she would have some sort of system set up. I am her next-door neighbor(in apt. 15B), and I have been walking Buffy and taking care of her other pets, but I'm afraid that my schedule doesn't allow me to be taking full-time care of Buffy. Taking care of him is affecting my job performance.  
Please contact me as soon as you can.

Gabriella Montez

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject:** The letter

I like it. Short and sweet. Gets the point across too.

Tay :)

P.S.: I think it's good that you left all the tardies out. No one in the real world cares about tardies. Just OUR flippin' workplace.

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject:** The letter

Yeah, but do you think he'll get it? From what people have said, this Ryan Evans seems to be taking on the role of playboy artist to a whole new height. I cant believe he's never hit Page Ten before!  
Plus, it seems like he's always on the road. The guy was in Thailand for a shoot last month, Hawaii last week, and this week who knows? Nobody seems to know where he is.  
Oh, and it's no good trying his cell phone: According to _Sports Illustrated, _he lost it scuba diving in Belize.  
If he even gets the message does he seem like the guy who will do anything about it?  
I'm a little worried.  
And it's ok I guess. I mean, I'm bonding with the cats(well, Mr.Peepers won't come out of the bed), and Buffy's like my best friend now.  
But, Human Resources has sent me five more tardy warnings. They are seriously going to put me on probation. But what can I do? Buffy NEEDS a good hour long walk in the morning.  
Still, if I have to ditch another society function because I have to walk that dog, I'm going to be fired. I completely missed the Emmy's because Buffy wouldn't go. I walked him for like _an hour _  
Dave was furious, because the _Chronicle _got the scoop on us.  
Though the _Chronicle _is doing celeb gossip, I cant imagine I always thought they were to highbrow for that!

Gabby

**To: **Jacob Cooper**  
From: **Ryan Evans**  
Subject: **Message

To Whom It May Concern:  
Please deleiver the following message to Sarah Banks, who is in the Sweetheart Rose Cottage.

**Sar-  
Do not-I repeat DO NOT- accept any messages, telephone calls, faxes, e-mails, etc., for me from a woman named Gabriella Montez.  
No, don't worry, she's not my ex. She's my aunt's neighbor. Apparently, Lorna took a tumble, and this Montez chick is trying to get in touch with me about the stupid dog.  
But we aren't going to let her ruin our little getaway together are we?  
So don't even answer the door until I get there. I'm just finishing the ANTM shoot, and then I'll be taking the red-eye from LAX, so I ought to be there in time to watch the sunset with you. Keep the champagne chilled for me.  
**

**Love ya,  
Ry**

**To: **Ryan Evans**  
From: **Jacob Cooper**  
Subject: **Message

Dear Mr. Evans,

It is my pleasure to inform you that your message for Miss Banks has been delivered.  
If there is anything else that we here at Happiness Inn can do for you to make your stay a more enjoyable one, don't hesitate to let us know.  
We look forward to you joining us tomorrow.

Sincerely,  
Jacob Cooper  
Concierge  
Happiness Inn  
Miami, Florida

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Ryan Evans**  
Subject: **My aunt

Dear Ms. Montez,

I am shocked. Deeply shocked and appalled to hear what has happened to Aunt Lorna. She is, as I'm sure you know, my only living relative. I cannot thank you enough for the efforts you've gone to in order to contact me and let me know.  
Although I am currently on assignment in Africa-perhaps you've of the drought here in Ethiopia? I am doing a shoot for the Save the Children fund-I will begin making preparations to come to New York at once. If my aunt is to wake up before I get there pleas assure her I'm on my way.  
And thank you again. Miss Montez. Everything they say about New Yorkers being heartless is obviously untrue in your case.  
God bless you

Sincerely,  
Ryan Evans

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Ryan Evans**  
Subject: **S.O.S

Dude.  
I'm in trouble  
You've got to help me out.  
I'm serious. You don't know what's at stake here. I have a chance for an extended vacation with Sarah.  
Yeah, you read that right. Sarah. The supermodel. The one who just dumped Trump. The one who did those ads for the new bra with the water pump. The one on the _Sports Illustrated _cover.  
Yeah, THAT one.  
But, it's not going to work if you don't do me one tiny favor, buddy. Just one little favor. That's all I'm asking for.  
And I know I don't have to remind you of Spring Break in Vegas where I saved your you-know-what. Remember? Senior year? I have never seen a person drink as many pitchers of margaritas as you did that night. I'm telling you, I SAVED you. And you swore to me the next day(by the pool, remember?) that if there was anything you could do for me you'd do it.  
Well, today's the day. I'm calling in the favor.  
Crap, their making us put away electronics for takeoff. Write back man.

Ryan

**To: **Dylan Bolton**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

I knew it was coming. I knew it was coming, and it just now arrived: A dispatch from Ryan Evans, demanding payback for a favor he did me in out senior year of college.  
My God, that was a decade ago. The man has a weird mind. He cant even remember his own Social Security number, but he remembers I owe him a "favor" What did I ever to deserve this?  
You remember Ryan dontcha Dyl? He was my roommate senior year, the one I got my first apartment with when I moved to the city after college. That dive after Hell's Kitchen, where the guy got stabbed in the back the first night we were there- remember? It was in the papers the next day…I think that's what led me to become a crime reporter, as a matter of fact.  
Remember how Mim offered to get me out of there, so I could move in with her and live, to quote her "like a human being"? God, after 2 months of living with Ryan, I almost took her up on it. It's like the guy still thought we were in college- half of Manhattan would show up in our living room for Monday night football every week.  
No hard feelings when I moved out, though. He still calls me every few months to catch up.  
And now this.  
God only know what Ryan wants me to do for him. Rescue a raft full of Cuban ballerinas, I suppose. Or the house the Australian rugby team. Or loan him the 50 thou he owes to the Russian mob.  
I am seriously considering leaving the country, Dyl. Do you think Mim would let me use the Lear for the weekend?

Troy

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Dylan Bolton**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

I hesitate to ask, of course, as your big brother I feel I have a right to know:  
What precisely, did Ryan Evans do for you that left you owing him this enormous debt?

Dylan

P.S.: Megan says when are you coming to visit? The kids have been asking about you. Lyndsei's riding post, and Jenna won best jumper at last week's exhibit.  
P.P.S.: No go on the Lear Mackenzi's using it.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**Chapter 4  
by: msbball8 aka Calli**

**To: **Dylan Bolton**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

Her name was Juli. She was a showgirl. She had feathers in her hair, and a dress cut down there.  
Okay, not really. But her name was Juli, and she was a showgirl. And apparently I was determined to make her the first Mrs. Troy Bolton.  
You wouldn't understand, of course, never doing anything even slightly disgraceful in all of your thirty-two years of life, but try, Dylan, try to put yourself in my shoes:  
It was spring break. I was twenty-two. I was in love  
I'd had way too many margaritas.

Ryan dragged me out of the chapel, took my keys, so I couldn't follow her, sent Juli home, sobered me up, and then put me to bed.

I still think of her sometimes. She had brown hair, and was slightly bucktoothed. She was adorable.  
But not worth THIS.

Troy

P.S.: Congratulate Lynsei and Jenna for me. Are you going out to the Vineyard this weekend? I could meet y'all there.  
Depending on what Ryan's favor turns out to be.

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Dylan Bolton**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

Ah. It all becomes so clear now. I know how you are when it comes to pretty brunettes.

So just what IS the favor he wants you to do for him?

Dylan

P.S.: No were going were going to our place in the Hamptons. You're welcome to join.

**To: **Ryan Evans**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject: **S.O.S.

I don't even want to ask. What is the favor you want me to do in return for you saving me Ryan?  
And please, I'm begging you, nothing illegal in New York or any other state.

Troy

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Ryan Evans**  
Subject: **S.O.S.

It's a piece of cake: All I want you to do is be me for a week or two.  
Well, maybe a month.  
Simple right? Here's the 411:

My aunt-the one who's filthy stinkin' rich who reminded me of your grandma, Mimi, or whatever the hell her name is. The one who was so mean about our apartment? The neighborhood wasn't _that _bad.  
Anyway, my aunt apparently suffered a senior moment and let some psychopath in her place, which conked her on the head and fled, and now she's in the vegetable crisper at NY Memorial.  
There is a chance-a very small one-which she will come out of it. According to her doctor that is.  
So, you understand that it simply won't do to have her waking up and finding out that her beloved Ryan didn't fl out as soon as he heard. Auntie Lorna's will is arranged 80/20-80 percent of the 12 million she's worth will go to me, 20 percent goes to various charities she sponsors. We wouldn't want there to be an untimely shift of some sort to these percentages, now would we Troy? Especially on account of Ryan turning out to be playing house with a supermodel during this alarming tragedy?  
Of course we wouldn't. This is where you, my friend, come in:

You are just going to tell that neighbor of hers that you're me.  
That's it. Just be me, so Ms. Gabriella Montez reports back to Auntie Lorna-if she ever comes around, which is extremely doubtful-that, yes, her beloved nephew, Ryan, did show up as soon as he heard about her little accident.  
Oh, yeah, you might have to walk the dog a few times, just to shut the neighbor up.  
And, of course, if the little old biddy shows the slightest sign of waking up, you call me. Got it? And I'll rush right back.  
But, since the chances of a eighty-year-old woman jumping back from this kind of accident is pretty much slim to none, I won't be expecting to hear from you.  
You know I wouldn't ask you to do this if we weren't talking Sarah here. Ok? SARAH. The girl is supposedly _very _flexible in yoga.  
YOGA, Bolton.  
You do this for me, and your slate is clean, dude. Whadduya say?

Ryan

**To: **Ryan Evans**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject:** S.O.S.

Let me see if I've got this right:

Your aunt was the victim of a brutal assault, and you don't even care enough to postpone your vacation?  
That's cold Evans. Really cold.  
Essentially, what you want me to do is pretend to be you. Is that is it?

I think I'd rather be married to the showgirl.

Troy

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Ryan Evans**  
Subject: **S.O.S.

You crime reporters are all alike.  
Why do you have to make it sound so underhanded? I told you. Lorna's in a coma. She's never even going to know about it. If she croaks, you tell me, I come back and help arranges the funeral. If she comes out of it tell me. I come back to help her recover.

But as long as she's unconscious, she's never going to know the difference. So why postpone anything?

Besides, we're talking Sarah here.  
You see how easy things can be if you don't overanalyze them?

As long as Auntie Lorna-and her lawyers-doesn't know any better, why not let me enjoy my little vacay? Calm down this neighbor of hers. That's all I'm asking. Just take over the dog walking duties.

I think it's a very small price to pay, considering that I kept you from making the biggest mistake of your life. You think old Mimsy would be inviting you to those soirées on the Vineyard if you had a Vegas showgirl for a wife?  
I think not.

I think you owe you buddy Ryan.

Ryan

**To: **Dylan Bolton**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject:** Ryan Evans

He wants me to pretend to be him and walk his comatose aunt's dog while he's off partying with a supermodel.

I guess it could be worse. A lot worse.  
So why do I have such a bad feeling about it?

Troy

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Dylan Bolton**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

You're right. It could be worse. Are you going to do it?

Dylan

P.S.: Megan say to tell you that she's got the perfect girl for you: Jenna's dressage instructor. Twenty-nine, size 4, blond, blue-eyed, the works. What do you say?

**To: **Dylan Bolton**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

Why not?  
I mean, walking an old lady's dog…how bad can that be?

Troy

P.S.: You know I can't stand dressage. There's just something wrong about making a horse dance.

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Dylan Bolton**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

They don't dance in dressage you moron. They step.

And have you ever considered that you and Juli might have been perfectly suited for one another? I mean, with the luck you've been having with women lately, Juli might have been your last chance at happiness.

Just think, if you'd followed your heart instead of Ryan Evans's head, you could be the one providing Mim with a grandkid in December, instead of me.

Dylan

**To: **Dylan Bolton**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject:** Ryan Evans

Have I mentioned lately how much I hate you?

Troy

**To: **Ryan Evans

**From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject: **S.O.S.

Ok, I'll do it.

Troy

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Ryan Evans**  
Subject: **Operation Buffy

All right. I'll let the neighbor know to expect you (I mean, me) tonight for the big key pickup. She's got my aunt's spare. It hasn't occurred to her to wonder why Aunt Lorna never gave me a key to her place. (That fire in her last apartment was not my fault, the wiring was bad)

Remember, you're supposed to be me, so try to act about the old lady's hematoma, or whatever it is  
And listen, as long as you're being me, could you try to dress with a little……oh, I don't know, STYLE. I know for guys like you who are born into money, the first instinct it to downplay the trillions you're worth.

And that's cool with me, I mean, I can understand this whole thing your doing, getting a real job instead of the cushy family job that your big bro offered.  
And I'm totally fine with it. If you want to pretend that you're only making forty-five grand a year, that's just great.  
But, while you're being me, could you PLEASE not dress like a grad student? I am begging you: No Plain White T T-shirts. And those deck shoes you always wear? Would something with a tassel kill you?

And for the love of God, invest in a leather jacket. Please. I know it will mean touching some of those many millions you grandfather left you, but really, something NOT from the Gap would be good.

That's all. That's all I ask. Just try to look good when you're imitating me. I have a rep to uphold you know.

Ryan

P.S.: The neighbor left a number, but I lost it. Her email's

**To: **Ryan Evans**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject: **S.O.S.

Christ, Evans, she works for the _**New York JOURNAL??**_

You didn't say that. You didn't say anything about your aunt's next-door neighbor working for the _New York Journal._

Don't you get it, Ryan? She might KNOW me. I'm a journalist. Yeah, we work for rival papers, but for God's sake, the field's pretty small. What if she opens her door and it turns out we've been to the same conferences-or crime scenes?

Your cover will be blown.

Or do you not care?

Troy

P.S.: How am I supposed to e-mail her? She's going to know I'm not you once she reads my address.

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Ryan Evans**  
Subject: **Operation Buffy

Of course I care. And don't worry. I already checked her out. She does the gossip page.

I doubt you've been running into any gossip columnists at those crime scenes you've been covering lately.

Ryan

P.S.: Apply for a second e-mail account  
P.P.S.: Quit bugging me. Sarah and I are trying to watch the sunset.

**To: **Ryan Evans**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject:** I'm not happy

Gossip? She's a gossip columnist, Ryan? She's going to know I'm not you for SURE.

**To: **Ryan Evans**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject: **I'm not happy

Ry? RYAN?? WHERE ARE YOU?

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

Oh, my, God, Taylor! I heard from him!

He's on assignment in Ethiopia, photographing little starving kids for the Save the Children fund! And I've just asked him to come home and take care of his aunt's dog!

What kind of horrible bitch must I seem to him? Oh, god, I knew I shouldn't have tried to contact him.

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject:** Ryan Evans

What's more important to him, a bunch of starving kids, or his aunt's dog?  
I don't mean to sound cold, but starving kids or not the guy needs to take a little responsibility.  
Besides, his aunt is in a coma, Gab. I mean, I mean if you last living relative is in a coma, you come home, for Pete's sake, starving kids or not.

When's he getting here, anyway? Are you going to be able to make the pool party? Because Chad's threatening to break off the engagement if I don't go.

Tay:-/

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Sharpay Baylor**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

Darling, I heard you shriek all the way in the art department. I thought at the very least the cast of _High School Musical _broke up.  
But now I find out it's only because Ryan Evans e-mailed you.

But what's this I hear about him doing it from Ethiopia? Ryan Evans would NEVER go to Ethiopia. My God, it's so……dusty there.

You must be confusing him with someone else.

Now, listen, about Jason: I am bound and determined to make him into something I wouldn't be ashamed to introduce to Stephen. So do you think he'll resist strongly to my steering him toward Barney's? He just simply has to have some linen pants, don't you think? He'll look so devastatingly F. Scott Fitzgerald in linen.

Can you say something, honey, next time you go to the copier and pass him? Something completely cutting, like "nice khakis," ought to put him _exactly _where I want him.

XXXOOO

Sharpay

**To: **Greg and Maria Montez**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **Lyla Phillips

Hi Mom. Sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you. Things here have been pretty bust like I mentioned over the phone. I'm still walking Mrs. Evans dog, but her nephew is supposed to get here tonight and come by, and hopefully we'll work something out.

Which is good because I've been getting into trouble at work for being late everyday. I don't know why people in HR have such an axe to grind against us everyday working stiffs. It's like they think they're special or something just because they control what goes into our performance files.

Anyway, other than the stuff with Mrs. Evans (don't worry, Mom, this building is very safe. Besides, you know my apartment is rent-controlled—it's not like I can just move. And, I always lock my door, and I never open it to strangers—besides, Cody, the doorman, would never let a stranger up without buzzing me first), things have been going okay. I'm still stuck on Page Ten—I cant convince Mr. Matusi, my boss, that I really could do hard reporting if he'd let me.  
Let's see, what else? Oh, I broke up with that guy I told you about. It wasn't going anywhere. Well, at least I didn't see it going where he thought it was going. Besides, it turns out that he was cheating on me with Kelsi Nielson. Well, I guess he wasn't cheating since we weren't really doing anything anyway—don't let Daddy read this, all right?  
Oh, there's the buzzer. Mrs. Evans's nephew is here. I have to go.

Love,

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Greg and Maria Montez**  
Subject:** Strange men

Gabriella! You call me as soon as that man is gone! How could you let a man you've never met into your apartment? He could be the serial killer I saw on _Inside Edition! _The one who puts on his victims' clothes and strolls around in them after he's hacked their bodies in to pieces!

If you don't call Daddy and me within one hour, I'm telephoning the police. I mean it, Gabriella.

Mommy

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

So?? What was he like??

Tay

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Chad Danforth**  
Subject: **Well??

DON'T TELL TAYLOR I WROTE THIS.

But listen, Gabby, you have GOT to get this guy to take over the dog-walking duties for you. Because if you don't, and you cant come to this engagement party at my uncle Jared's, Taylor's going to have a nervous breakdown. I swear to God. Don't ask me why, but she's sot this thing with her weight, and she needs, like, your moral support or something every time she gets into a bathing suit.

As her maid of honor, it is your duty to appear with her at this party on Saturday. So get this dude to walk that dog okay? If he gives you a hard time, let me know. I'll take care of him. People think guys who love food aren't tough, but that's not true. I'll do to him what I did to my chef's face when he cooked me my dinner tonight, which happened to be veal piccata—pounded flat and swimming in the lightest white wine sauce you've ever seen. I'll get you the recipe if you want it.

NOW DON'T FORGET!!

Chad

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Ryan Evans **  
Subject:** Operation Buffy

You wore tassels, right? On your shoes? When you went to see her tonight?

Just tell me you wore tassels.

Ryan

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Dylan Bolton**  
Subject: **How'd it go?

Just wondering how your little performance went this evening.

Oh, and Megan was wondering if you're still coming for dinner on Sunday like we planned.

Dylan

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Ryan Evans  
**Subject: **HI!!

HI!! THIS IS SARAH, RYAN'S FRIEND, WRITING TO YOU ON E-MAIL! RYAN IS IN THE HOT TUB BUT HE ASKED ME TO ASK YOU HOW IT WENT WITH THAT WEIRD LADY WHO HAS THE DOG PROBLEM. DID SHE BELIEVE YOU WERE RYAN??  
IT IS WEIRD TO BE WRITING TO YOU SEEING AS I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU. WHAT IS THE WEATHER LIKE IN NEW YORK? HERE IT IS EIGHTY AND BEAUTIFUL.

WE SAW SOME PERFORMING CATS TODAY. IT WAS CRAZY!! WHO KNEW CATS COULD DO THAT??  
OH, RYAN SAYS TO ASK YOU TO CALL HIM AS SOO AS YOU GET THIS MESSAGE. THE NUMBER IS 305-658-8978. ASK FOR THE SWEETHEART ROSE COTTAGE. THE SWEETHEART ROSE IS A FLOWER. I ONCE DID A SWIMSUIT SHOOT WITH THEM. UH-OH, I HAVE TO GO RYAN IS HERE

SARAH

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject:** What was he like?

Ok the stats:  
I would say six foot maybe six foot one. Really great build. I mean REALLY great build. Dark hair, kinda dirty blonde, but not totally blonde. Blue eyes. They were the bluest blue I've ever seen. I really don't know how to describe them well.  
As for the rest:  
I don't know, he wasn't what I was expecting, that's for sure. I mean from what I'd heard, about the modeling shoots and everything, I was expecting a real smooth worker, you know?

But what kind of smooth operator goes around in a Plain White T T-shirt? And he had on jeans and deck shoes with no socks. I expected Gucci loafers at least.  
And he was so modest—I mean, for a guy who entered a nude picture of himself in the Biennial. I think Sharpay was exaggerating about that. Maybe he really wasn't nude. Maybe he was wearing one of those flesh-colored body stockings like they do in the movies.  
And he didn't want to talk about his trip to Ethiopia at all! When I mentioned the work he did for the Save the Children fund, he actually seemed embarrassed and tried to change the subject.

I tell you, Taylor he doesn't seem at all like the way Sharpay described him.

Even Mrs. Evans didn't do him justice. She always talked about him as if he was a little irresponsible, but I'm telling you, Taylor, he didn't seem that way to me. He asked all sorts of things about what happened-I mean about the break-in, since the door wasn't even locked….  
Anyway, it was really touching how much he seemed to care about his aunt. He asked me to show him where I found her, and how she was lying, and if anything was missing….  
It was almost as if he'd had some experience dealing with violent crime….I don't know. Maybe there were some catfights at the Victoria's Secret shoot??  
Another odd thing: He send kind of surprised at how big Buffy is. I mean considering that Mrs. Evans had Ryan over for dinner a few months ago, and Buffy's five years old, so it's not like Buffy could of grown any. When I mentioned how last week Buffy nearly yanked my shoulder out of its socket, Ryan said he didn't see how a frail old lady could walk that big of a dog on a regular basis.  
Isn't it funny? I guess only a nephew would think of Mrs. Evans frail. She's always seemed like a tough old cookie to me, considering that last year she hiked all over Yosemite….  
Anyway, Taylor, I'm so glad you made me get in touch with him! Because he said he didn't feel right about me walking Buffy every morning with my hurt shoulder and all, and that he was going to move in next door to keep an eye on things and take care of the animals.

Can you believe that? A man who actually takes care of his responsibilities? I am still in shock.  
I have to go-someone's at the door. Oh, God it's the cops!  
Gotta go-

Gabby

**To: **Taylor McKessie **  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject:** What was he like

Ok, the cops are gone. I explained about my mother and her obsession with the transvestite killer. They didn't even get that mad.

Anyway, Taylor, do you want to know something else? About Ryan Evans, I mean. If you can stand it….

From where I'm sitting, at my desk at home I can see into his apartment-I mean Mrs. Evans apartment. Right into the spare bedroom. Mrs. Evans always kept the mini-blinds in the room down, but Ryan opened them right up(to look at the city lights, I guess-we do have a nice view here on the fifteenth floor) and I can see him lying on the bed typing something on his laptop. Tweedledee is on the bed beside him , as is Buffy, of course. (no sign of Mr.Peepers, but then, he's shy)  
I know it's wrong to look, but, Taylor, they look so nice and happy in there!  
And I guess it doesn't hurt that Ryan has very nice forearms….

Oh, God. I'd better go to bed. I think I'm getting slap happy.

Love Gabby

**To: **Dylan Bolton**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject:** How'd it go?

She's a gorgeous brunette

Help.

Troy

**This is my longest chapter ever! At 15 pages and 3,560 words. Dang! Thakns for all the reviews I got last chapter Can we do it again?! Please?!**

**Calli :)**


	6. Chapter 6

Alright, when I say, Troy Evans I mean Troy Bolton

**Alright, when I say, Troy Evans I mean Troy Bolton. Ok? **

**Chapter 5  
by: msbball8 aka Calli**

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Sharpay Baylor**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

Darling, did I over hear you correctly when I saw you and Taylor at Starbucks this morning? Did you say Ryan Evans actually _moved in next door_ to you?  
And that you were actually _spying_ on him?  
And that you saw him _naked_??

I seem to have gotten water in my ears last weekend at Brayden's, so I just want to make sure I heard you right before I call everyone I know and tell them.

XXXOOO

Sharpay

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject: **Sharpay

Gabby-  
Would you stop obsessing? Who is she going to tell? Sharpay doesn't know that many people at the office.

And the ones she does know hate her and wouldn't trust her anyway. Trust me.

Tay

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Jason Cross**  
Subject: **You

Gabby, did I hear this from Sharpay correctly? Did a naked man move in next door to you? What happened to the old lady? Did she end up dying? I hadn't heard. I'm very sorry for your loss, if that's the case. I know you two were fairly close, for Manhattan neighbors.

But I don't think it's appropriate for a man to parade around nude in front of his neighbors. You really ought to complain about this to the co-op board about this, Gabriella. I know you are only renting, and that you don't like to make waves because you have such a good deal on the place, but this kind of thing could be perceived as sexual assault. Really, it could.

Gabriella, I was wondering if you had given any thought to what I said in the elevator the other day. I really meant it. I think it's time.

I remember that day when we went walking in Central Park during your lunch hour. It seems so long ago, but it was only last spring. You purchased a hot dog from an outdoor vendor, and I urged you not to, because of that story I did on salmonella in street-cart food. I'll never forget the way your brown eyes flashed at me as you told me, "Jason, in order to die, you have to live a little first." Gabriella, I've decided: I want to live. And the person I want to live with, more than anyone else in this world is you. I believe I am ready to make a commitment. Oh, Gabriella, please won't you let that commitment be with you?

Jason

Jason Cross  
Senior Correspondent  
New York Journal

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Dave Matusi**  
Subject: **Tardiness

So, Sharpay tells me that you finally got in touch with the dog guy. That would explain why you were on time this morning for the first time in 27 days.  
Congrats, kid. I'm proud of you

Now, if you'd just start handing in your copy on time I won't have to fire you. But I guess I shouldn't count on that happening since I hear this neighbor of yours is pretty buff.

Dave

**To: **Sharpay Baylor **  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

Sharpay, I swear to God, if you tell one more person I saw Ryan Evans naked I will personally come and kill you with your mascara applier.  
He wasn't NAKED, ok? He was fully clothed. FULLY CLOTHED AT ALL TIMES. Well, except for his forearms. But that's all I saw, I swear to it. So, stop telling people otherwise!!

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Sharpay Baylor**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

Honey, have I struck a nerve? I've never seen you use caps so strenuously. Ryan must have really made an impression on you for you to be so heated up. But then, he does have that affect on women. He can't help it.

Well, gotta go. Jack Lorton is taking me to lunch. Yes, that's right: Jack Lorton, the editor in chief. Who knows, when I get back from lunch, I just might have a hefty promotion. Don't worry; I won't forget the little people.

XXXOOO

Sharpay

P.S.: What do you think of Jason's new pants? Aren't they just the thing? Hugo Boss

I know, I know. But it's a start.

**To: **Chad Danforth**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject:** Saturday

Hi! Just a quick not to tell you not to worry-I'll be there Saturday. Yes, the dog guy showed up! See you then.  
Proud to be your future wife's maid of honor,

Gabby

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Dylan Bolton**  
Subject: **How'd it go?

She's a gorgeous brunette? That's IT? You're just going to leave me hanging here? WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED??

Dylan

P.S.: Megan wants to know, too.

**To: **Dylan Bolton**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject: **How it went

Sorry. I got hung up on a story, and then I had to go back to Evans's aunt's place to walk the dog. Ryan failed to mention that the misleadingly named Buffy is a GERMAN SHEPARD. The dog weighed more than Mim.  
So, what do you want to know? Did she believe that I was Ryan Evans? I am sorry to say that she did. Did I play the part of Ryan Evans to perfection? I guess I mush have, or she wouldn't have believed I was him. Do I feel like a grade-A asshole for doing it? Yes.

The worst part is…well, I already told you the worst part. _She thinks I'm Ryan Evans_. Ryan Evans, the ingrate who doesn't even seem to care that someone cold-cocked his aunt.  
Gabriella cares, though.  
That's her name. The brunette. Gabriella. People call her Gabby. That's what she told me. "People call me Gabby." She moved to the city right after college which makes her about 27 years old, since she's lived here for five years. Originally, she's from Paris, Texas. Have you ever heard of Paris, Texas? I've heard of Paris, France, but not Paris, Texas. She says it's a small town where you can walk down Main Street and everyone goes "Oh, hi, Gabby."  
Just like that. "Oh, hi, Gabby."

On her bookshelves are, among a great many other books, copies of every single thing ever written by Stephen King. Gabriella has a theory that for every century there's a writer, who sums up the popular culture of the time, and for the 19th century it was Dickens, and for the 20th it was Stephen King. She says it has yet to be determined who is going to be the voice for the 21st century. You know my ex, Lauren (you remember Lauren, don't you, Dylan? The one you and Megan referred to as the mouth breather?), had on her bookshelves, Dylan?

The complete works of Kierkegaard. She'd never read Kierkegaard, of course, but the book covers matched the color of her sofa cushions. That's what she saw me as. Heather, I mean. A six-foot-two checkbook that could pay off her decorating bill. Remind me again why Mim liked her so much?

Oh, and when I got there she offered me beer. Gabriella, not Heather. Not seltzer. Not wine. Not a cocktail. Beer. She said she had two kinds: Bud Light and Corona. I had Bud Light. So did she.

She showed me where Ryan's aunt keeps the dog and cat food. She also told me what Buffy's favorite walks were. She showed me how, I kid you not, a cat named Mr. Peepers out from under the bed. She asked about my trip to Ethiopia. She asked me about my work for the Save the Children fund. She asked me if I'd visited my aunt in the hospital, and if it had upset me very much, seeing her with all those tubes coming out of her. She patted me on my arm and told me not to worry, that if anyone could come out of a coma,it was my aunt Lorna. And I stood there like an idiot and grinned and pretended to be Ryan Evans. Anyway, I'm moving in to Lorna Evans apartment. So, if you need to call me the number's 241-332-7749. Only don't call. Loud ringing noises, I've discovered scare Mr. Peepers. Gotta go.

Troy

**To: **Troy Bolton  
**From: **Dylan Bolton  
**Subject: **Who are you?

And what have you done with my brother? He used to be a rational human being until he started to pretend he was Ryan Evans and met this Gabriella person. ARE YOU INSANE?? You cant move into that woman's apartment. What is wrong with you? GET OUT NOW WHILE YOU STILL CAN.

Dylan

**To: **Troy Bolton  
**From: **Dylan Bolton  
**Subject: **I think it's sweet

Hi, Troy. It's Megan. Dylan let me read your last e-mail. I hope you don't mind.

I also hope you don't listen to him. I think what you are doing is very sweet, helping out that poor girl next door with the old lady's pets. Dylan is trying to tell me that you aren't doing it to be nice, and something about brown hair, but I am not listening to him. He has a very sick mind.He told me just the other day that the music from my pregnancy exercise video sounded like a porno! When has he ever watched porn I would like to know. Anyway, I'm just saying, don't you feel bad about pretending to be this Ryan person. It's for the greater good. And why don't you ask the brunette over for dinner on Sunday night? I'll make sure to tell the girls to call you Ryan. They'll think it's fun, I'm sure. Like a game!

Well, that's all for now. Hope to see you soon.

Your loving sister-in-law,

Megan

**To: **Blake Sanders  
**From: **Troy Bolton  
**Subject: **Contact

Please note that for the next several weeks I will only be available by cell phone. Do not leave messages for me on my home phone. I can always be reached by email, either at this one or my new one,Troy Evans. Thanks-

Troy Bolton  
Senior Crime Correspondent  
New York Chronicle

**To: **Dylan Bolton  
**From: **Troy Evans  
**Subject: **For Megan

Dear Megan-  
I'd just like to thank you for being so understanding about my current situation. You see, my brother, your husband, has a tendency to take a very cynical view of everything. Don't ask how he got this way, since Dylan has always been the lucky one: He's the one who got head for business, while all I got, if you'll excuse the cliché, the bod for sin. He was also lucky enough to get you, Megan. I guess it's easy for a guy who's got such a gem for a wife to sit back and criticize the rest of us poor slobs, who cant even find a geode out there, let alone a jewel. I guess Dylan doesn't remember how hard it was for him to meet a girl who was actually attracted to him and not the Bolton family fortune.

Apparently, Dylan doesn't remember Mackenzy. Be sure to ask him about Mackenzy, Megan. Or Alyssa, for that matter. Or Tessa, Lyla, Katlyn, Nycole, or Emylee. Go on, ask him. I'd be curious to see what he has to say about any of them. What Dylan doesn't seen to realize is that he's already found the best girl in the world. He forgets that some of us are still looking. So tell your husband to cut me a little slack, will you Megan? And thanks for the invite, but I think I'll skip dinner this Sunday.

Love-  
Troy

P.S.: Write back at the address above, I'm not sure if it works yet.

**To: **Sgt. Blake Cooper  
**From: **Troy Bolton  
**Subject: **Lorna Evans

Cooper-

I was wondering if you could do me a favor. I need a look at anything you've got on Lorna Evans, 12-17 West 82nd, Apt. 15A. She was a B&E with, I believe, an assault-a pretty serious one, since she's been in ICU ever since, comatose. I appreciate it, and, not it's not for a story, so don't worry about your commanding officer.

Troy Bolton  
Senior Crime Correspondent  
New York Chronicle

**To: **Ryan Evans  
**From: **Troy Bolton  
**Subject: **Lorna Evans

Don't worry. Everything went fine. I safely avoided Ms. Montez's questions about my work for the Save the Children fund. Nice one, by the way. I suppose by children you mean those 18 year old chewing gum sticks you spend the day photographing in fashions only 50 year-old divorcees can afford?  
You really are a bastard, you know?

Troy

**To: **Troy Bolton  
**From: **Ryan Evans  
**Subject: **Lighten up

God I forgot what a stick in the mud you can be. No wonder you haven't had a girlfriend in so long. What was wrong with the last one? Oh yeah, I remember: Kierkegaard collection that matched the sofa. Dude, you need to chill. Who cares what books she has on her shelves? It's what she's like in between the sheets that matter, he he he.

Ryan

**Hey guys the note at the top applies to all further chapters. **

**Sarah: Sorry you weren't mentioned in this chapter, you wil in the next one…maybe, not sure yet. Thanks for the reviews….i always look forward to seeing them in my inbox. You make my day all the time.**

**Laughnsmile96: I look forward to seeing you reviews for both my stories. I'm glad you like my story. You are an awesome writer too. I look forward to seeing a Story Alert for Under Love in my inbox. Can't wait until the next chapter!!**

**Clembo29: Thanks for faithfully reviewing almost every chapter. It really means a lot.**

**Lilmissmonique: Thanks for the reviews!! It's really sweet :)**

**Zanessaloverocks x3: I hope this chapter fulfilled your expectations of my story so far. **

**Magaret09: Thanks for reviewing!! **

**This chapter is dedicated to those who reviewed last chapter!! Let's do it again!!**

**Calli :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 6  
by: msbball8 aka Calli**

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Sgt. Cooper Blake**  
Subject: **Lorna Evans

Bolton-

File's on its way. Or should I say some copies of the file that were accidentally made while the CO was at lunch. If any of this shows up in you paper, Bolton, you can kiss that Mustang of yours good-bye. Consider it impounded.

Brief summation of incident involving Lorna Evans:

Call came in at approximately 8:50 A.M., reporting unconscious female in her home. We had a unit in the park nearby. They arrived on the scene at approximately 8:55 A.M. Found victim being given First Aid by a woman saying to be her neighbor. Later confirmed woman as Gabriella Montez living next door in apartment 15B.

Victim approximately eighty-year-old woman. When originally found, was facedown on her living room carpet. Witness claims in her statement that she turned the woman to check for heartbeat, respiratory distress, etc. Victim breathing with a weak pulse when EMS arrived at 9:20 A.M.

No sign of break-in or illegal entrance to home. Outside lock not tampered with. Door unlocked, according to neighbor.

According to doctors, victim was struck on the back of the head with a blunt object, possibly a small-caliber pistol. Assault occurred approximately twelve hours before discovery of the victim. Questions put to doormen and neighbors revealed that

no one called upon apartment 15A the previous night to the discovery of the victim

no one heard anything at or around 9:00 P.M. that evening.

One added note: There were a number of the victims clothing thrown across her bed, as if previous to the accident, victim was trying to decide what to wear. However the victim was found in nightgown, slippers, hair curlers, etc.

A reporter might try to make something out of the fact that this could be considered as another attack by the transvestite killer. There is one major difference: The transvestite killer actually kills his victims, and tends to stick around to make sure they're really dead.

Additionally the transvestite killer's victims have all been in their twenties, thirties, and forties. Mrs. Evans, though apparently lively for her age, was unlikely to be mistaken as a younger woman.

Well, that's it. We got nothing. Of course, if the old lady croaks, that'll change things. But unless that happens, this is being treated as an interrupted robbery.

That's all I can think of. Good luck.

Cooper

**To: **Taylor McKessie

**From: **Gabby Montez

**Subject: **He didn't mean it

Taylor, you know he didn't mean it. At least not the way you think he did. All Chad was saying is if that you're going to sit around and complain about your weight so much, why not do something about it and join a gym. He never said you were fat. All right? I was there. HE DID NOT SAY YOU WERE FAT.

Now are you seriously going to tell me you didn't have fun at the party? And Chad's uncle Jared is a doll. That toast he gave the to of you...it was so sweet! I swear, Taylor, sometimes I'm so jealous of you I could burst.

I would give anything to find a guy with an uncle Jared who'd throw me a pool party and call me a Botticelli Venus.

And you did NOT look fat in that suit. My God, it had enough Gortex in it to keep Marlon Brando's flab in check. Your tiny belly didn't stand a chance.

So would you snap out of it and act like an adult?

If you're good,I'll let you come over and spy on Ryan Evans with me....Oooh, look, tonight he's got on a muscle tee....

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Taylor McKessie

**Subject: **My butt

You are lying. About the muscle tee and about what Chad meant. You know good and well he meant he's sick of my size 16 rear end. Heck, I am tired of my size 16 rear end. And I fully intend to do something about it and join a gym.

I just don't need Chad suggesting it.

It's his fault I am this size, you know. I was a size 12 until he came along and started to have his chef make his trademark pappardelle alla Toscana with four cheeses and a marsala wine sauce every night. "Oh, baby, come on, just try a taste, you'venever had anything like it."

Ha!

And what about his chef's rigatoni alla Vodka? Vodka my ass. That's a cream sauce, and nobody can tell me any different.

And as for being called a Botticelli Venus, believe me, there are better things to be called.

Now, whats the dog guy really wearing?

Tay :-/

**To: **Taylor McKessie

**From: **Gabby Montez

**Subject: **What he's wearing

What do you care what he's got on? You're engaged.

But if you insist....

Let me see, he is laying (or is it lying? No wonder I'm only on Page Ten.) on the bet with jeans and a t-shirt on ( no muscle tee- you're right, I was lying to see if you were paying attention). He has his laptop out again. Buffy is there beside him. Buffy is looking disgustingly happy, I must say. That dog never looked that happy when I was over there. Maybe-

Oh, my God! No wonder that dog looks so happy! He's feeding him Alpo-on the bed! That dog is getting Alpo all over Mrs. Evans guestroom's chenille bedspread! What is wrong with this man? _Doesn't he realize chenille has to be dry-cleaned?_

This is so pathetic. This is so pathetic,Taylor. I mean the pathos of it all just suddenly came over me. I am sitting here in my apartment, recording the guy next door's activities for my best friend, who is engaged. Taylor, you are getting married! And what am I doing? Sitting here at home in sweats e-mailing my girlfriend.

I AM PATHETIC!!! I am worse than pathetic. I am-

OH, MY GOD. OH, MY GOD, Taylor! He just saw me. I'm not kidding he just waved!!! I am so embarrassed. I am going to die. I am going to-

Oh, my God, he's opening the window. He's opening the window. He's saying something to me.

I'll get back to you.

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Taylor McKessie

**Subject: **WRITE BACK!!!!

If you don't write me back tonight, I swear I am calling the cops. I don't care if I'm just like your mom. You don't know anything about this guy, except that his crazy aunt lives next door to you and he has a naked picture of himself in the Whitney. Which I think you and I need to take a little field trip on Tuesday to see by the way.

WRITE BACK TO ME...

Or the boys from the eighty-seventh precinct will be making another visit.

Tay

**To: **Taylor McKessie

**From: **Chad Danforth

**Subject: **Cut it out

I've been trying to you for the past two hours, but your phone's been busy. I can only assume that either it's off the hook because you don't want to talk to me, or you are yakking it up on-line with Gabby. If it is the latter, go off-line and call me at the gym. If it is the former, stop being a spaz.

All I said was if you're freaked out about this whole wedding dress thing, get a personal trainer, or something. I mean jeez, Taylor, you're driving me crazy with this size 12 crap. Who CARES what size you are? _I _don't care. I love you just the way you are. And I don't give a rat's ass how many of your sisters have worn the stupid dress of your mother's. I hate that dress anyway. It's ugly. Just go out and but a new dress, one that fits you the way you are NOW. You'll fell better and it will look better on you anyway. Your mother will understand, and who cares what your sisters think? Screw your sisters anyway.

I have to go. Coach is yelling at me because I just lost the scrimmage. See what you made me do?

Chad

**To: **Chad Danforth

**From: **Taylor McKessie

**Subject: **Excuse me...

But I don't appreciate your attitude toward my sisters. I happen to like my sisters. What if I said screw your brothers? What if I said screw your uncle Jared? How would you like that, huh?

It's all very well for you to talk. All you have to do is throw on a rented tux. _I _on the other hand have to be glowing.

DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND???

God, it's so easy to be a man.

Tay

**To: **Taylor McKessie

**From: **Gabby Montez

**Subject: **No big deal

He just couldn't figure out how to work his aunt's electric can opener. He brought Mr. Peepers some actual tuna in order to get him out from under the bed. It didn't work, of course. I suggested that he buy tuna in water instead of oil. I don't think cats like oil too much.

Anyway, while I was there, he asked where the best place in the neighborhood to order Chinese from. So I told him, and then he asks if I'd had dinner, and I said no, so he asked if I wanted to order with him, and so I said yes, and we had barbequed spare ribs, cold sesame noodles, moo shu pork, and chicken with broccoli. And I know what you are going to say now, and no, it was not a date, Taylor. For God's sake, it was only Chinese food. In his aunt's kitchen. With Buffy sitting there, waiting for one of us to drop something so he could gobble it up.

And he didn't make a pass at me. Ryan, I mean, not Buffy. Although I don't see how he could resist, seeing as I was quite stunning in my Saturday-night-and-i-don't-have-a-date sweats.

The fact is Sharpay has to be wrong about Ryan. He's no ladies man. It was all very casual and friendly. It turns out we have a lot in common. He likes mysteries and so do I, so we talked about our favorite ones. You know, he's really literary for a photographer. I mean. Compared to some of the guys in the art department at work. Can you picture Jacob conversing knowingly about Edgar Allen Poe? I don't think so.

Oh, God, a horrible thought just occurred to me: What if all that stiff Sharpay said about Ryan is true, and he IS a ladies' man? What does that mean, seeing how he didn't make a pass at me?

It can only mean one thing!

Oh, God, I'm hideous!

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Taylor McKessie

**Subject:** Go take a Midol...

would you please? You are not hideous. I'm sure all those things Sharpay said about Ryan Evans aren't true. I mean, it's SHARPAY, for God's sake. She used to have YOUR job. Only unlike you she wasn't exactly conscientious about what she reported. For instance, I sincerely doubt she'd felt your moral outrage over what Kevin Federline did to Britney.

I'm sure Ryan is a very nice guy, just like you said.

Tay :-)

**To: **Sharpay Baylor

**From: **Taylor McKessie

**Subject: **Ryan Evans

All right. Spill it. What's the truth about this guy? Because he's pratically moved in next door to Gabby and she'd clearly smitten, despite her protests to the contrary. Is he really as bad as you say he is, or are you exaggerating as usual?

And remember: I am the head food critic here at this paper. With a single phone call I can make sure you never get into Fresche again, so don't ness with me, woman.

Tay

**To: **Troy Evans

**From: **Dylan Bolton

**Subject: **So?

You're not speaking to me now, or what? All I said on the phone was that what you don't know about women would fill the Grand Canyon. What are you so touchy about all of a sudden?

Dylan

P.S.: Megan wants to know if you've asked the brunette out yet.

**To: **Dylan Bolton

**From: **Troy Evans

**Subject: **So?

I am not being touchy. What do you want from me? not all of us have a personal assistant, a driver, an au pair, a housekeeper, a gardener, a team of pool maintenance workers, a tennis instructor, a nutritionist, and a job our grandfather handed to us on a silver platter, you know. I'm just busy all right? My God, I've got a full time job and a German Shepherd I've got to walk 4 times a day.

Troy

P.S.: Tell Megan I'm working on it.

**To: **Troy Evans

**From: **Dylan Bolton

**Subject: **You ought to seek professional help

Listen, you psychotic freak: Where is this hostility coming from? You know, you could have a job in your grandfather's office if you wanted one. Ditto a personal assistant. I don't know about a team of pool maintenance workers, as, living in the city you don't have a pool. But everything I've got you could easily have if you'd give up this absurd quest you've embarked on to show you can survive without Mim's money.

I'll tell you one thing buddy, that you really need that you don't have is a psychiatrist, man, because you seem to be in great danger of forgetting something:

You don't have to walk that damn dog 4 times a day. Why? Because you are not Ryan Evans. Got it?

YOU ARE NOT RYAN EVANS, no matter what you're telling that poor girl.

Now get over yourself.

Dylan

P.S.: Mim wants to know if you're going to the dedication of that new wing we've donated to Sanders-Baker. If you are, she requests you wear a tie for a change.

**To: **Gabby Montez

**From: **Troy Evans

**Subject: **Hi

It's me. Ryan Evans, I mean.

How are you? I hope you didn't actually try those leftover sesame noodles yesterday. My share hardened over night into something resembling stucco.

Look, I think some of your dry cleaning got delivered to my aunt's apartment last night instead of yours. At least, I don't think my aunt owns any Charlotte Russe jeans—or at least, if she does, she unfortunately hasn't had much opportunity to wear them lately—so it must be yours, right? Maybe we could meet later for a dry-cleaning exchange. Oh, and I noticed there's a digitally restored re-realese of _Shadow of a Doubt _playing tomorrow night at Film Mania. I know you said that was your favorite Hitchcock. I thought maybe we could catch the seven o'clock showing, if you don't have other plans, then maybe we could get something to eat later—preferably not Chinese food. Let me know.

Ryan Evans

P.S.: I've been meaning to tell you, my friends call me Troy. It's a college thing that stuck.

**Holy Hello Kitty!!!!! I am soooooooooooooooooo sorry for not updating. I got stuck. I literally would sit here and stare at the document with just the title on the page…..i couldn't come up with anything remotely good. Everything I wrote sounded like total crap. Again I am soooooo sorry. **

**I would like to dedicate this chapter to **_laughnsmile96 _**she was awesome and told me I would come up with something sooner or later. Thanks again!!!**

**NEXT CHAPTER: The date…ooohhh :)**

**Disclaimer: Shucks, I don't own diddly squat. **

**Review please!!!!**

**Calli :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 7  
by: msbball8 aka Calli**

**To: **Troy Evans**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **Hi back atcha

Sure. The seven o'clock show would be great. We could go to Slayton's BBQ (**A/N: There actually is one….it is really good. I don't own it though.**) afterward. That's right down the street from Film Mania.

Thanks for rescuing my dry-cleaning. Ralph id forever getting 15A and 15B confused. I'm forever getting giant Purina bags delivered to my door. I'll pop by around nine to pick up my jeans, if that's not too late. I have a function to attend to after work—an art opening I have to cover for my column. This guy actually does sculptures out of Vaseline. I am not kidding, either. And people actually but them.

Well, talk to you later.

Gabby

P.S.: Troy is sort of a strange nickname, isn't it?

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject:** OHMYGOD

HE ASKED ME OUT!!!

Well, kind of. It's just a trip to the movies, but that sort of counts doesn't it?

Here, read this copy of my reply and tell me if I sound too eager.

Gabby

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Sharpay Baylor**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

Good God, I see what you mean. I haven't seen Gabby this excited since she found out about that _One Tree Hill _reunion special (remember Sophia and Chad divorced again?!?!).

Thank God Jason's on a trip to Cote d'Ivoire and doesn't have to be subjected to the delighted squealing coming from Gabby's cubicle. He is still pathetically hung up on her. Why Gabby would want to throw away a work-in-progress like Jason for a wretch like Ryan I can't imagine. I mean at least Jason has potential. I have known many women who've tried to change Ryan, to no avail.

In other words Taylor, be afraid, be very afraid. Ryan is everything our mothers warned us about (well, mine would have warned me about boys like Ryan if she was ever home).

Ryan's modus operandi: very intense until he gets a girl into bed, then he starts backing off. By that time the young lady is usually besotted, and cannot understand why the formerly attentive Ryan stops calling. Pathetic scenes ensue, in which cries of "Why haven't you called?" and "Who was that girl I saw you with the other night?" are answered with "Stop suffocating me." and "I'm not ready for a commitment." Variations of this include: "Can we just take this one day at a time?" and "I'll call you on Friday, I swear."

Are you getting the picture?

Oh, and did I tell you about the time Ryan made all the models on a _Sports Illustrated _swimsuit shoot, shoot ice down their nipples because they weren't sticking out enough? (**A/N: Sharpay Evans everybody. Hasn't changed a bit.**)  
Darling, he'll eat our little Gabby up and then spit her back out.  
You really didn't mean it about Fresche, did you?

XXXOOO  
Sharpay

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **OK, so what do I wear?

Seriously. Last time I saw him I was in sweats, so I want to look really, really good. Come with me at lunch and help me pick out something. I'm thinking this slip dress I saw at Wet Seal. But do you think that's to sluttish for a first date?

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject:** We need to talk

Meet me in the ladies' room in five.

Tay

**To: **Gabby Montez  
**cc: **Taylor McKessie, Sharpay Baylor**  
From: **Dave Matusi**  
Subject: **Doesn't anybody work here anymore?

Where the hell is everybody? Has it occurred to any of you that we actually have a paper to put out?

Sharpay, where's that story you were doing on stilettos, silent killers?

Taylor, I'm still waiting for the review of Bobby Flay's new place.

Gabby, did you or did you not attend last night's premiere of that new Ben Affleck film? I expected at lest a diatribe from you about what a cad he was to leave the blonde chick from _High School Musical_ for that creepy girl who has a thing for her brother.

If I don't see some butts in chairs pretty soon there's not going to be cake for any of you at Charlotte's baby shower.

And I really mean it this time.

Dave

**To: **Dylan Bolton**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject: **Me? Hostile?

You ought to take a look in the mirror, Dyl. You aren't going prematurely bald because of your genes, buddy. I am practically your genetic double, and not to brag or anything, but I still have a full head of hair. You have got to have a lot of pent up hostility killing off those follicles. And if you ask me, it's all directed at Mim. It's your own fault for letting her run your life. See, I broke free, and guess what? Not a single damn strand on my pillow in the morning.  
I am willing to overlook your intense personal insecurities for the moment to inform you that I will not be able to make it to the dedication tomorrow night, as I have alternate plans.  
I will elaborate no more, for fear of further fraternal wrath.  
I like that, further fraternal wrath. Maybe I'll put that in my novel.

Fraternally yours, your faithful brother.

Troy

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
cc: **Sharpay Baylor**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **Chill

You two need to cal down. I am _going out_ with the guy, okay? I am not diving into bed with him. As Jason can attest, I don't dive into bed with anybody that easily, alright?

You guys are way overreacting. First of all, Sharpay, I don't even believe that nipple story. And Taylor, I am not the emotionally fragile mess you imagine me to be. Okay, I am _concerned _about Britney Spears, but it is not keeping me up at night. Ditto Lindsey Lohan.

I can take care of myself.

Thanks for caring though.

Gabby

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **What is going on here?

What was _that _supposed to be? An intervention? I nearly died when I walk into the ladies' room and saw Sharpay with YOU. I kept looking around for the fax guy, thinking he was hiding in the stall with a box of condoms and some edible massage oil, and her being there was just a terrible mistake.

Taylor, I don't care what Sharpay says about Ryan Evans. He is nothing like that. Maybe he used to be, but he's changed. I mean, I _know_. I have spent time with the guy. And I've watched him with Mr. Peepers (okay, I admit it, so I spied on him through the window. Hey, I'm not proud. But it's the truth). Mr. Peepers hate everybody, but he really is starting to warm up to Ryan, and I know you cant judge a person on how he or she relates to animals, but I think it says a lot about Ryan that he has spent time getting to know his aunt's pets that even a distrustful and generally antisocial cat like Mr. Peepers is starting to warm up to him.

OK?

And, yeah, maybe my batting average ain't what it ought to be, considering the fact that Jason was doing Kelsi Neilson behind my back and I never suspected a single thing, but I really don't think Ryan is just put to get me into bed. Because what if what Sharpay said was true, then Ryan Evans could have anybody. So why have me? I am not being modest either. I mean, why a guy like that would go for a short curly-headed brunette gossip columnist when he could have...well, Heidi Klum, if she wasn't happily married to that Seal guy or whatever his name is.

I mean, seriously, think about it, Taylor.

That's all I'm not mad or anything. Just hurt, I guess, I mean, I'm not a baby.

Gabby

P.S.: You can make it up to me by helping me pick out a pair of new Jimmy Choo's to go with my dress.

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject:** Fine. Go out with him. See if I care.

But I want a full report the minute you get back. Understand?

And I am fully warning you, Gab, if this guy breaks your heart and you are mopey for my wedding, I will personally castrate him, and kill you.

Tay :-[

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Dylan Bolton**  
Subject: **What novel?

You're writing a novel now? You've shed the shackles of the family fortune, you're leading a double life, you're trying to find the mystery behind the old lady's assault, _and _you're writing a novel?

Who do you think you are anyway? Bruce Wayne?

Dylan

**To: **Dylan Bolton**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject: **Batman

Actually, I don't believe Bruce Wayne ever wrote a novel, nor did he shed that shackles of the family fortune. He used his fortune quite extensively, I believe, in his crime fighting efforts. Although he did, obviously, lead a double life.

As for solving the mystery behind the old lady's assault, Bruce would probably have done a better job than I have so far. I just can't understand it—why would somebody try to bump off a harmless old lady like that? The closest the police have gotten to explaining it is that it was an interrupted robbery—but interrupted how? And by whom?

Gabby mentioned something about how the doorman often gets her apartment, 15B, and Mrs. Evans's apartment, 15A, mixed up. Which got me thinking about what a cop friend of mine said that it almost resembled the work of the transvestite killer, except the old lady didn't fit the victim profile. I'm kind of wondering if the guy got the wrong apartment...if Mrs. Evans wasn't his intended victim at all. That once he'd realized his mistake, he tried to go through with it, but couldn't quite do it, and ended up leaving the job undone.

I don't know. It's just something I've been thinking about. I polled the doormen in the building, and none of them remembers sending anyone up to the fifteenth floor that night—although one of them asked me if I had gotten a haircut. Apparently, he'd seen Ryan before, and while he recognized that I wasn't the genuine article, he couldn't figure out how exactly I'd changed in appearance. Frightening how we take our security for granted isn't it?

Anyway, if you're good I'll send you the first couple chapters of my opus. It's about a bunch of people who lack any redeeming qualities—kind of like Mim's friends. You'll like it.

Shit, I've got to be at Film Mania in fifteen minutes.

Troy

**To: **Troy Bolton  
**From: **Dylan Bolton  
**Subject: **You are unbelievable

Film Mania? _That's _why you can't come tonight? You're going to the _movies_?

The brunette has something to do with this, doesn't she?

Dylan

**To: **Taylor McKessie  
**From: **Gabby Montez  
**Subject: **My date-a-logue

_18:00  
_Preparation for my date begins. I put on the stunning little blue dress you helped me pick out. I noticed I looked a little_ too _stunning for a dinner and a movie. Add a cotton sweater. Mom would be pleased. Remember her adage: You know how cold it can get in movie theaters in summertime.

Practice walking in new platform mules for half an hour. Only turn my ankle twice. I'm ready as I'll ever be.

_18:30_

Depart for downtown. Know I must look nice, as I am groped on the train 1 between Times Square and Penn Station. Elbow groper in midriff. Receive round of applause from fellow straphangers. Groper disembarks, looking shamefaced.

_19:00_

Arrive outside movie theater. There is a huge line! Scan line nervously for Troy (did I tell you Ryan asked me to call him Troy? It's an old college nickname). Finally spot him at the end of line already holding tickets. My plan to go dutch (therefore making this an outing between friends, and not a date, per your suggestion) instantly ruined! I rally by informing him I will buy popcorn and sodas. You will be pleased to know that Troy graciously agrees to this plan.

_19:00-19:20_

Stand in line chatting about that giant sinkhole that has opened up on 79th Street. You know how I love weather disasters. Well, it turns out Troy does, too! This leads to a long conversation about our favorite weather disasters.

_19:21_

Line begins to move. Troy goes in to find seats. I go buy popcorn and soda. Realize with dismay I forgot to tell him to get me a seat next to the aisle due to absurdly small bladder.

But when I get inside the theater, he has done just that—saved me the aisle seat! Now, really, Taylor, has Chad ever once let you have the aisle seat? No, never, and you know it.

_19:30-21:30_

Watch movie. Eat popcorn. Notice Troy can chew and breathe through his nose at the same time. This is a marked improvement from Jason, who you will recall had a problem with that. I wonder if Sharpay has noticed yet.

Also, Troy doesn't look at his watch while the movie is running. This was one of Jason's most annoying habits. Then I notice, Troy doesn't even wear a watch. Definitely an improvement from Jason, who not only wore a watch, but checked it obsessively every 20 minutes.

_21:30-22:00_

We walk over to Slayton's BBQ and discover that is, like most popular Manhattan eateries, has been overrun by out-of-towners. There is a two-hour wait for a table. I suggest we go for a slice at Milano's, (**A/N: There is one in Texas. Don't know about anywhere else. Don't own it.**) which as you know has the best pizza in the city. On the way, Troy tells amusing story about his brother and a drunken midnight pilgrimage to Milano's. I say I didn't know he had a brother, and then he says he meant fraternity brother. This is particularly upsetting: remember The Incident in college? Yea.

Then I remembered that this wasn't a date, but a friendly outing like you suggested, and I was able to relax again.

_22:30-24:00_

Pizza consumed standing up because there are no seats. While we eat, I relate amusing story about how one time I ran into Gwyneth Paltrow at Milano's, and she ordered a slice with veggies and sauce but no cheese! This leads to discussion about my job, and how much I want to write features. It turns out Troy has been reading Page Ten, and admires my energetic but to the point style! Those are the words he used! Energetic! And to the point!

I _am _energetic and to the point, aren't I?

So then I tried to talk to him about _his _job. I thought I could subtly find out the truth about that whole nipple thing.

But he didn't want to talk about himself at all! He wanted to know where I went to college and stuff like that. He kept asking about our hometown. As if _that _place is interesting. So, I told him about the tornado that came through the middle school's cafeteria in the middle of summer so we didn't get any time off.

Finally, I ran out of steam and suggested we go home. But on our way to the subway, we passed a bar where live blues were being played! You know I can't resist the blues. I don't know if I was looking wistful or what, but he said "Let's go in."

When I saw there was a 15 dollar cover and a two-drink minimum I said "No, we don't have to," but he said he'd but the drinks if I paid the cover, which I thought was very generous because those places charge like ten bucks for a beer, and so we went in and I got a second wind and had a very fun time and drank beer and ate peanuts and threw shells on the floor and then the band took a break an we both realized it was midnight and we were both, like, "Holy crap! Buffy!"

So we both rushed—we split a cab, which was expensive, but at that time of night much faster than a subway—and got home before any major accidents or howling occurred, and I said good night by the elevator, and he said we should do it again sometime, and I said I would love that and that he knew how to reach me, and then I went into my apartment and took shower to was all the smoke from the bar out of my hair, and Febrezed my new dress.

You will not that no passes were made (by either party) and that everything was very friendly and genuine and mature.

And now I hope you're ashamed of yourself for all the mean things you thought about him because he is really sweet and funny and wore the nicest jeans I ever saw, not too tight, but not too baggy either, with some very interesting faded parts, plus his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows—

Uh-oh, here comes Dave. He's going to kill me because he still wants tomorrow's pages. Gotta go.

Gabby

**To: **Taylor McKessie  
**From: **Gabby Montez  
**Subject: **Wait a minute...

why _didn't _he make a pass at me? Oh, my, God! I really must be hideous after all!

Gabby

**To: **Dylan Bolton  
**From: **Troy Bolton  
**Subject: **The brunette has something to do with this, doesn't she?

Well, of _course._

Troy

**There ya go!!!! I meant to get this out earlier today, but since we had a snow day today (YEAH!!! :)) my mom had me doing chores. I don't know how this song inspired me but it did:**

_And we drive and drive  
Until we found a town far enough away  
And we talk and window shop  
__Till I forgotten all their names_

I don't know who I'm gonna talk to now at school  
But I know I'm laughin  
On the car ride home with you  
Don't know how long it's gonna take to feel okay  
But I know I had the best day with you today

I have an excellent father  
His strength is making me stronger  
God smiles on my little brother  
Inside and out  
He's better than I am

**The Best Day-Taylor Swift**

**Again I really don't know how this song inspired me, but it did and you got this chapter out of it!!! **

**The next chapter might be up later on today…..i don't know it might be up early tomorrow….if it's not up by then, it'll be up by the time I get all my homework done(curse you homework :))**

**Again this chapter is dedicated to **_laughnsmile96_ **you rock!!!! You are one of the nicest people on FF….that I've met :) **

**REVIEW!!! Pwease :)**

**Calli**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 7? (I'm not sure.)  
By: msbball8 aka Calli**

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject: **So sue me

Okay. First of all you're not hideous. Where do you get these things? Secondly, I am willing to admit when I am wrong, and so I will admit it: I was wrong about the guy.  
At least so far.  
I do think it's a little weird that he wants you to call him Troy. I mean, what kind of nickname is _that_? I'll tell you what kind: a name, not a nickname.  
But whatever. You're right. You're not a baby. You can make your own decisions. You want to listen to the blues, eat peanuts and talk about weather disasters with him? You go right ahead. I will not try to stop you. It really isn't any of my business.

Tay

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject:** All right....

what's wrong with you? Since when is anything I do _not_ your business? In the 22 years I have known you, you have poked you nose into every single detail of my life—as I have poked mine into yours. So what's this "It really isn't any of my business" crap?  
Is there something going on that you aren't telling me about? You and Chad have made up, right? I mean, after the fight you two had over what he said at Uncle Jared's. Right?  
Right?  
Taylor, you and Chad can't break up. You two are the only couple I know who actually seem happy together.  
Except of course for Zac and Vanessa.

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject:** Yes, Chad and I...

made up. It's nothing to do with him. At least not directly. It's just that—and I really don't mean to sound self-pitying or whiny or anything—but the thing is, Gabby, I'm just so...  
FAT!!  
I am so fat, and I can't lose any weight, and I'm tired of eating rice cakes, and Chad keeps bringing over bread that his chef's made and having him make French toast in the morning....  
I mean, I love Chad, I really do, but the idea of getting up in front of all his family with my butt the size it is just makes me want to heave. I am serious.  
If only we could elope....

Tay :-(

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **No!

You can't elope! What am I going to do with that stupid eggplant-colored bridesmaid dress you made me buy if you elope?  
Okay, this is it, Taylor. You are forcing me to do this. But I want you to remember, it's for your own good.

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject:** Do what?

Gabby, what are you doing? You are making me very nervous. I hate it when you get like this.  
And I thought you liked the bridesmaid dresses I picked out.  
Gabby???  
GABBY???

Tay

**To: **Martha Cox**  
cc: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **Weight loss programs

Dear Ms. Cox,  
Since you people down in HRD are so eager to help us correspondents up here in the newsroom, I was wondering if you could let us know if the _New York Journal_ offers its employees discounted membership rates at any of the nearby local gyms.  
Please let me know as soon as possible.  
Thank you.

Gabriella Montez  
Page Ten Correspondent  
New York Journal

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject:** Have you completely lost you mind?

WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING???  
I can't join a gym! I'm depressed, not suicidal!  
I'm going to kill you....

Tay

**To: **Troy Evans**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject:** Talk about a disaster

Hey, did you check out the Weather Channel this morning? Major tropical depressions down in the Bahamas. I think we're looking at an upgrade to a tropical storm any day now.  
Keep your fingers crossed.

Gabby

P.S.: Next time you're going up to see your aunt, let me know, and I'll come with you. I heard people in comas can recognize voices, so maybe I could try talking to her. You know, since I used to see her practically everyday, and all.

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Ryan Evans**  
Subject:** Me

Hi! How's it going long time no heard from, huh? Just thought I'd check in. How's my aunt? The old bag croak yet?  
Just kidding. I know how sensitive you are about all that, so I won't wax humorous on that subject of old ladies meeting their Maker.  
Besides, I love the old harpy. I really do.  
Well, things here in Miami are going swimmingly. And I mean that literally. Sar and I found a nude beach the other day, and all I can say is, Troy, if you haven't skinny-dipped with a bowlegged supermodel, then, son, you haven't lived.  
While she's in town having her bikini area waxed. I thought I'd email you and see how things were going. You know, you really came through for me in a jam, and I don't want you to think I don't appreciate it.  
In fact I appreciate it so much I am going to offer you some advice. Advice about women, actually, since I know how you are around them. You know, you shouldn't be so standoffish. You really aren't a bad-looking guy. And now that you are, I trust, dressing with a little more class, thanks to my guidance, I assume you are getting a little more action. It is time, I think, to move on to Ryan Evans Guide to Women.  
There are seven types of women. Got that? Seven. No more. No less. That's it. They are as follows:

avian

bovine

canine

caprine

equine

feline

porcine

Now, you might get your combinations of certain traits. For instance, you might have a very porcine young lady—wild, greedy etc.—who is also a bit avian—empty-headed, a bit giddy, maybe. I would say the perfect combination would be a girl like Sarah: feline—sexy and independent—while at the same time equine—proud, yet poetic.  
What you don't want is canine—overly dependent—or bovine—speaks for itself. And I'd stay away from caprines—fond of game playing, and all that.  
Well, that's all for today. I hope you've enjoyed your lesson—and that it made sense. I'm drunk off my ass right now, you know.

Ryan

**To: **Ryan Evans**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject:** You

Please don't write me anymore.  
I will walk your aunt's dog and feed your aunt's cats. I will pretend to be you.  
But don't write to me anymore. Reading your pathetic ramblings on a subject you will clearly never, ever come to understand is simply more than I can take at this point in my life.

Troy

**To: **Troy Evans**  
From: **Dylan Bolton**  
Subject:** The brunette

Hi, Troy, it's me, Megan. Dylan refuses to ask, so I will:  
How's it going? I mean, with that girl, and pretending to be Ryan Evans, and all of that?  
Let me know!

Love,  
Megan

P.S.: We missed you at the dedication. You should have been there. Your grandmother was very hurt, as were Lynsei and Jenna. They've been bugging me about whether or not you're ever coming to visit us again.  
Are you?

**To: **Dylan Bolton**  
From: **Troy Evans**  
Subject:** How's it going?

How's it going? You ask how it's going, Megan?  
Well, I'll tell you: It's going awful, thanks.  
That's right. Awful. Everything is terrible.  
Everything shouldn't be terrible, of course. Everything should be wonderful. I've met this _completely_ terrific girl. I mean _completely _terrific, Megan: She likes tornadoes and the blues, beer, and anything to do with serial killers. She eats up celebrity gossip with as much enthusiasm as she attacks a plate of moo shu pork, wears shoes with heels that are way too high and look fabulous in them—but manages to look just as fabulous in a pair of Nikes and sweatpants.  
And she's _nice_. I mean really, truly, genuinely kind. In a city where no one cares about their neighbors, she not only knows her, but _cares_ about them. And she lives in _Manhattan_. Manhattan, where people routinely step over the homeless in an effort to get into their favorite restaurants. As far as Gabby seems to be concerned, she never left Paris, Texas, population 25,000. Broadway might as well be Main Street.  
And get this: we went out the other night, and she wouldn't let me pay for her. Yes, you read that correctly: _She wouldn't let me pay for her_. You should have seen her face when she found out that I had already bought the tickets for the movie: You'd have thought I'd killed a puppy or something. No woman I have ever gone out with (and, contrary to what my brother might have told you, there have not been all that many) has ever paid for their movie ticket—or anything else, for that matter, when she was out with me.  
Not that I ever minded paying. It's just that none of them ever even _offered._  
And, yeah, okay, they all knew they were out with Troy Bolton, of the Park Avenue Bolton's. How much am I worth today? Have you been keeping an eye on the NASDAQ?  
But they never even _offered_.  
Are you getting this so far, Megan? After all the Rachel's and Tiffanies and Emylyees (My God, remember Emylyee? And the disastrous Texas dip?) and all those Taylor's, I've finally met a Gabby, who wouldn't know a IPO from an IOU, a woman who just might potentially be more interested in me than in my investment portfolio....  
And I cant even tell her my real name.  
No, she thinks I'm Ryan Evans.  
Ryan Evans, whose brain, I'm beginning to be convinced emaciated at around age 16. Ryan Evans, who has categorized panoply of female character traits that I am convinced he derived from a Saturday morning Hanna-Barbera cartoon.  
I know what you're going to say. I know exactly what you're going to say Meg.  
And the answer's no, I can't. Maybe if I'd never lied to her in the first place. Maybe if right from the very beginning I told her that I wasn't Ryan Evans.  
But I didn't, all right? I blew it. I blew it from the very beginning.  
And now it's too late to tell her the truth, because anything else I ever try to tell her, she'll think I'm lying about that too. Maybe she won't admit it, but in the back of her mind it will always be there. "Maybe he's lying about this, too."  
Don't try to tell me any different, Megan.  
And now she wants to go with me to visit Ryan's aunt. Can you believe that? The comatose aunt! She said that she's read that people in comas can sometimes hear what's going on around them and even recognize voices.  
Well, Aunt Lorna sure as hell won't recognize my voice will she?  
So there you have it. My hellish life, in a nutshell. Got any advice? Any sage words of womanly wisdom to throw my way?  
No, didn't think so. I am perfectly aware of the fact that I dug this grave myself. Don't remind me. I guess I have no choice but to lie down in it.

Cadaverously yours,  
Troy

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Sharpay Baylor**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

Honey, I couldn't help but overhear your little conversation with Taylor near the fax machine—is it really true? That you two have joined a gym and are starting spinning classes?  
Well, good for both of you! I say more power to you. Let me know if they have bleachers or an observation booth or something of that variety where I can go and sit and cheer you on (and if they provide refreshments, preferably of the alcoholic variety, which is the only way you'll ever, get me in a gym, by God).  
Anyway, about that other thing I heard you mention. Do you want to know why he didn't make a pass at you? Ryan Evans, I mean? If you think about it, it all makes sense....I mean, the stories we've heard about his ruthless _womanizing_ despite his fear of commitment, his obsession with getting the right shot of whatever subject he is photographing, his constant need for approval, his refusal to settle down in one place, and now this freakish name-change thing?  
Really, it all might boil down to this one itsy-bitsy thing:  
He's gay.  
It's perfectly obvious, honey. That's why he didn't make a pass at you.

XXXOOO

Sharpay

**Ok….I totally meant to get this out earlier today…..but things happened and it had to wait. But hey I got it out right?!?!? **

**This chapter is dedicated to one very special person…Bailey or Zanessaloverocks x3. I told you that you didn't have to worry…. :) You are awesome!!!! **

**Thanks to everyone who has favorited/alerted this story….You all rock!!!!**

**REVIEW!!!!!! Pwease :)**

**Calli :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 9  
By: msbball8 aka Calli **

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject: **Calm down

He is not gay. Alright? That is just Sharpay. She's just messing with your head. She's bored. Jack Lorton won't leave his wife for her, Jason is still mooning over you, and Sharpay has nothing better to do than torture you. You are just playing right into her hands by getting all upset like this.  
Now are we going to the noon or five-thirty class tomorrow?

Tay

P.S.: I don't have to tell you how much I hate this, right? This exercise thing? I mean, in case you didn't know. I hate it. I really hate sweating. It's not natural. It really isn't.

**To: **Taylor McKessie **  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject:** But that would explain...

why he didn't try to kiss me, or put his arm around me, or anything! He's gay!  
And I offered to go with him the next time he goes to visit his aunt in the hospital.  
God, I must seem like the biggest nagging idiot in the world!

Gabby

P.S.: Let's go to the noon class so we can get it over with. I know you hate it, Taylor, but it's good for you. And sweating _is_ natural. People have been doing it for thousands of years.

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject:** Are you...

suffering a psychotic breakdown?  
First of all, he's not gay.  
Secondly, even if he was gay, your saying you want to go with him to see his comatose aunt is hardly nagging. It's actually very nice.  
I told you not to listen to Sharpay.  
Remember the chenille bedspread? Remember when you saw him feeding the dog Alpo right on the bedspread? Would a gay man_ ever_ do that to chenille?

Tay

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **Oh

Yes. You're right. No gay man would ever abuse chenille in that manner.  
Thank God I have you in my life, Taylor.

Gabby

P.S.: But if he isn't gay, how come he hasn't emailed me back? I wrote him ages ago about some tropical depressions, and they've already been upgraded to storms!

**To: **Troy Evans**  
From: **Dylan Bolton**  
Subject: **Oh for God's sake...

Just call the girl, would you? While you're sitting around beating yourself up, some other man could be stealing her from right out from under your nose!  
Don't worry, the Ryan Evans stuff will work itself out. You wouldn't believe some of the lies Dylan told me when we first started going out...foremost of which was that he went out with Angelina Jolie. He just didn't mention that it was when she happened to be on the same ferry he was taking to Catalina.  
Yeah, he "went out" with her alright.  
Oh, and you grandmother showed me a picture of the Alyssa girl, whom your brother insists was the most beautiful woman he has ever known: Hello, somebody call the pound, I think there's a pit bull on the loose—  
And here comes Dylan. He's screaming something about grilled cheese and why I don't get my own e-mail account, and why mush I keep raiding his, and now he's trying to shove me out of this chair, even though I am seven months pregnant with his unborn son, oh and not to mention the mother of his two daughters.

Megan

**To: **Troy Evans**  
From: **Dylan Bolton**  
Subject:** Go away

I just want you to know that while you are burdening my wife with your half-assed problems—all of which, by the way, are of your own making—everything here is going to pieces. I just had to make the girls their lunch and the cheese dripped out into the toaster oven all over everything and started a fire.  
So all I have to say to you is get your own wife already and stop bothering mine.

Dylan

**To: **Troy Evans**  
From: **Dylan Bolton**  
Subject: **HI, UNCLE TROY

IT'S US, LYNSEI AND JENNA. MOMMY AND DADDY ARE HAVING A BIG FIGHT OVER WHAT YOU SHOULD DO ABOUT THE BROWNHEADED LADY. MOMMY SAYS YOU SHOULD CALL HER UP AND ASK HER TO DINNER. DADDY SAYS YOU NEED THERAPY.  
IF YOU MARRY THE BROWNHEADED LADY, WILL SHE BE OUR AUNT?  
WHEN ARE YOU COMING TO SEE US? WE MISS YOU. WE HAVE BEEN VERY GOOD. EVERY TIME THAT VEIN IN DADDY'S HEAD STARTS TO TURN PURPLE WE SING THE SONG YOU TAUGHT US, JUST LIKE YOU SAID TO. YOU KNOW WHICH SONG. THE ONE ABOUT DIARRHEA.  
WELL, WE HAVE TO GO. DADDY SAYS TO GET OFF HIS DESK.  
WRITE SOON!!!

LOVE,

LYNSEI AND JENNA

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Troy Evans**  
Subject:** Baseball-sized hail, and other weather anomalies

Dear Gabriella,  
Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. I had some business that needed tending to. But it looks like it's all more or less in order now—at least, as much as it can be for the moment.  
It's sweet of you to offer to visit my aunt with me, but you really don't have to.  
Wait. Stop. I know what you're going to say.  
So to cut you off at the pass, might I suggest that we do it tomorrow night, if you don't already have plans?  
And I think I will take this opportunity to discuss something that has been bugging my conscience heavily since we met: the great debt I owe you for saving my aunt's life.  
Stop. Again, I know what you're going to say. But the fact of the matter is, you did exactly that. The police told me so.  
So although it is rather inadequate means of expressing my immense gratitude and appreciation of what you did, I was hoping that you'd let me take you out to dinner some night. And since I know how deeply this will offend you Southern sensibilities, I am prepared for you to pick the restaurant, lest you worry that I might choose a place destined to bankrupt me.  
Think it over and let me know. As you are aware, my evenings are, thanks to Buffy, quite free to eleven.

Sincerely,  
Troy

P.S.: Did you see that thing on the Weather Channel last night? Why is it that people who attempt to drive through flash-flood swollen rivers in their SUV's always end up being the people who don't know how to swim?

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **He wrote back!

And he asked me out.  
Well, sort of. I guess it's more of a pity/thank you type thing instead of an actual date.  
But maybe if I get just the right dress...  
You're the restaurant expert. Which one should I pick?

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject:** You aren't going to...

be able to pay your rent next month if you keep buying stuff to impress this guy.  
I have a wonderful idea! Wear something you already own. He cant possibly have seen you in everything you own already. He only moved in a couple of weeks ago, and I know you have ten million skirts.  
Here's another idea: Why don't the two of you stop by Rano's? That way, Chad and I can get a look at him and let you know what we think.  
Just a thought.

Tay

**To: **Taylor McKessie  
**From: **Gabby Montez  
**Subject: **Ha!

What do you think I am? Stupid? We aren't going anywhere near Rano's. Not in a million years.

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez  
**From: **Chad Danforth  
**Subject: **So we're just not good enough for you, huh?

I guess when it comes to fine dining, you really know who your friends are. I mean, evidently, you have some kind of prejudice against my restaurant (**A/N: Chad owns a restaurant.**) that I never knew about till now.  
And yet whenever I've offered to have my chef cook up his famous chicken paillard, you've never turned him down. Could it be that all this time, you've merely been humoring me?  
What about Taylor? She's not really your best friend, is she?  
You probably have some fancy other best friend tucked away for emergencies, don't you?  
It's all becoming clear now.

Chad

**To: **Chad Danforth  
**From: **Gabby Montez  
**Subject: **You know good and well

why I don't want to go to your restaurant. I don't care to be gawked at by my best friend and her boyfriend!  
And you know it.  
You really are insufferable, you know that? It's a good thing that your chef's such a good cook—and that you're so good-looking, too, of course.

Gabby ;-)

**To: **Gabby Montez  
**From: **Sharpay Baylor  
**Subject:** Dinner

Honey, are you mad? You simply have got to make him take you to Le Meilleur. There just isn't anywhere else worthwhile.  
And it isn't as if he cant afford it. My God, Ryan Evans made a fortune photographing that Sarah creature for that Revlon campaign.  
After all, you did give that women CPR. For that he owes you something from at least Tiffany's.

XXXOOO

Sharpay

**To: **Gabby Montez  
**From: **Dave Matusi  
**Subject: **Corner bistro

That's where you make the guy take you. Best burgers in the city. Plus you can watch the game while you eat.

Dave

**To: **Gabby Montez  
**From: **Jimmy Chu  
**Subject: **How can you even

think of going anywhere else but Peking Duck House? You know, it's the best Peking duck in the city.

Jim

**To: **Gabby Montez  
**From: **Zeke Taylor  
**Subject:** Gaydar

Taylor passed me your friend Troy's latest e-mail, which I guess you forwarded to her, and I can say clearly, speaking as a homosexual, that this man is straight. No gay man I know would ever let the woman choose the restaurant, even if she did save his aunt's life.  
Make him take you to Rano's. Taylor and I and the rest of the gang are going to sit at the bar and pretend we don't know you. Puh-lease make him take you to Rano's....  
Y'all have a nice time and be sure to practice safe sex, you hear?

Zeke

**To: **Taylor McKessie  
**From: **Gabby Montez  
**Subject:** For the love of God...

would you please stop telling everyone who works here about my personal life? It is so humiliating! Zeke Taylor from Programming just e-mailed me. And if Programming knows, you know it''s only a matter of time before it gets down to Art. And what if someone in Art knows Ryan Evans, and tells him how everybody in Features is talking about him?  
I mean, my God, what are you trying to do?

Gabby

**To: **Sharpay Baylor, Chad Danforth, Zeke Taylor, Dave Matusi, Jimmy Chu  
**From: **Taylor McKessie  
**Subject:** Gabby

Alright everybody, lay off her. We're just making her nervous.  
I really mean that, Sharpay, so don't even think about another ladies' room ambush.

Tay

P.S.: Besides, you know she cant keep a secret to save her life. She'll blab about where they're going eventually, and the we'll have her. ;-)

**To: **Troy Evans  
**From: **Gabby Montez  
**Subject:** Dinner

Dear Troy,  
Hi! It's really sweet of you to offer to take me to dinner, but you really don't have to.  
I was happy to do what I did for your aunt. I only wish I could've done more for her.  
But if you really insist, I honestly don't care where we go to dinner.  
Well, that's not true, there is one place I really DON'T want to go, and that's Rano's. Anywhere else is fine. Why don't you surprise me?  
See you back on the fifteenth floor tonight at six (ICU visiting hours are only from sis-thirty to seven)?

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez  
**From: **Troy Evans  
**Subject: **Dinner

You got it.  
I'll make reservations for eight. I hope you know what you're doing, however, letting me choose the restaurant. I am very partial to entrails, you know.

Troy

**To: **Troy Evans  
**From: **Gabby Montez  
**Subject: **I don't believe you

You're just trying to scare me.  
I grew up on a farm. We had guts on toast every morning for breakfast.

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez  
**From: **Troy Evans  
**Subject: **Now you're

scaring me.  
See you at six.

Troy

**Ok, I swore to myself that I was going to get this chapter out today. I've worked on it for the past 3 days on and off. I will try and get as many updates out in the next day and a half as I can. We leave on Tuesday to head on down to Texas…..not looking forward to the 16 hour drive….with my HUGE golden retriever taking up 3/4 of the back seat….FUN!!!(Sarcasm).**

**I'm home Monday so you'll probably be getting updates unless my mom piles on the housework… **

**Well, how was this chapter??? Let me know by reviewing!!!! Pwease :)**

**Calli :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 10 (?)  
By: msbball8 aka Calli**

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Sgt. Cooper Blake**  
Subject: **Last night

Bolton-  
Look, man, I can't apologize enough. I don't know what's going on with you and the brunette, but I didn't mean to blow it. I was just so surprised to see you there! I mean, Troy Bolton, at the Animal Medical Center? What kind of crime could he be following up on? Certainly one of fowl nature....  
Sorry. Couldn't resist.  
Seriously, we were just there to check on, Henry, the precinct's bomb-sniffing pooch. Some clown fed him a bunch of KFC left over from lunch, and you know what they say about dogs and chicken bones....  
Well, it turns out to be true. Although Henry is expected to make a full recovery.  
What _were_ you doing there, man? You looked strung out. Well, for a guy with a hot babe like that on his arm.  
Let me know if there's anything I can do to make up for it.... Fix some parking tickets, maybe? Have the brunette's husband held without bail for the weekend. Whatever.  
Anything, anything to make it right again.

Cooper

**To: **Sgt. Cooper Blake**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject: **All is forgiven

At least for now. Last night, I could have easily throttled you.  
Not that it was in anyway your fault. I mean you saw mw. You said, "How's it going, Bolton?" as any normal person would.  
How were you to know that I am currently living under an assumed name?  
But what started out to be the most disastrous evening of all time—who knew that cats eat rubber bands? I certainly didn't—turned out to be pure bliss.  
So consider yourself forgiven, my friend.  
And as for the brunette, well, it's a long story. Maybe I'll even tell it to you someday. Depending on how it turns out, of course.  
Right now, it's back to the Animal Medical Center for me. I have to bail out the cat, who has supposedly recovered nicely from his intestinal surgery. And on the way home I am going to but that cat the biggest, smelliest fish you ever saw, as a thank you for his kind thoughtfulness in ingesting that rubber band

Troy

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject: **Well???

What did you wear? Where did you end up going? Did you have fun?  
WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED???

Tay

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **It happened

What did you wear?

I wore my short black Calvin Klein wraparound skirt, with my V-necked light-blue three-quarter-sleeve silk sweater and matching blue ankle strap sandals with the three-inch heel.

Where did you end up going?

We didn't end up going anywhere. Not for dinner, anyway.

Did you have fun?

YES.

WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED???

It did.  
Okay, well, not really, but almost. What happened was, I was applying my final layer of lipstick when there was a knock on the door. I went to answer it. It was Troy. He actually had on a tie! I couldn't believe it. He looked really great—only really worried. So I was all, "What's wrong?"  
And he went, "It's Tweedledee. Something's wrong. Would you mid coming to take a look?"  
So I went and took a look, and sure enough, Tweedledee, who is quite the more active and affectionate one of Mrs. Evans two cats, was lying underneath the table looking like a little kid who had eaten too many Oreo's. He didn't want anyone touching him, and growled when I tried to.  
Anyway, I suddenly remembered something, and I went "Oh, my God, have you been removing the rubber bands from around the_ Chronicles _when you bring them in?" Because you know the _Chronicle_ thinks so well of itself that it always comes bound in a rubber band, to keep the sections from falling out, since its customers would freak out if one single section was missing, and they didn't get to read the financial news or whatever.  
And the Troy went, "No. Am I supposed to?"  
And that's when I realized I had forgotten to tell him the most important thing about cat-and-dog-sitting for his aunt: Tweedledee eats rubber bands. So did his brother, Tweedledum. This is why Tweedledum is no longer with us.  
"We've got to get this cat to the hospital right away!" I cried.  
Troy looked stunned. "You're kidding, right?"  
"No I'm serious." I went and got the cat carrier down from where Mrs. Evans always kept it, the top shelf of the linen closet. "Wrap him in a towel."  
Troy just kept standing there. "You're actually serious."  
"I am totally serious," I said. "We have to get the rubber band removed before it blocks something."  
Actually, I have no idea if a rubber band could block something, but you could tell by looking at his glazed eyes that he was one sick animal.  
So Troy got a towel and we bundled up Tweedledee (Troy sustained several evil-looking scratches before he accomplished this) and took him to the Animal Medical Center, which is where I know Mrs. Evans took Tweedledum when he had his fatal encounter with the rubber band off a copy of the _Chronicle. _I know because she asked mourners to send them a donation in lieu of flowers after Tweedledum's demise.  
The minute we walked in, they whisked Tweedledee off to X-ray. Then there was nothing we could do except wait and pray.  
But it was kind of hard to sit and pray, you know, when all I could think about was how much I hate the _Chronicle_, and here is was, tuning my big date. At least, I thought it might've been a date. I just kept thinking about how the _Chronicle_ is always scooping us, and how they have to have their Christmas party at Pacha NYC, **(A/N: There is one in NYC…I don't own it though.)** and how ours is always at AMF Bowling Center. And how their circulation is like a hundred thousand more than ours, and how they win all the journalism awards, and their style section is in color, and they don't even have a gossip page.  
Well, it just started making me laugh. I don't know why. But I just started laughing about how once again the _Chronicle_ had managed to ruin something for me.  
The Troy asked me why I was laughing, and so I told him (not the part about how the _Chronicle_ had ruined our date, but the rest of it).  
So then Troy started laughing, too. I don't know why _he_ was laughing, except, well, he doesn't exactly strike me as the praying type. He kept laughing in these little bursts. You could tell he was trying not to, but sometimes it would come out.  
Meanwhile the weirdest people kept coming in, with the strangest emergencies! Like one lady was there because her golden retriever had eaten all her Prozac. Another one was there because her iguana had taken a flying leap from her seventh-story balcony (and landed seemingly unharmed on the roof of a deli below). A third lady came in because her hedgehog just "wasn't acting right."  
"How," Troy whispered to me, "is a hedgehog supposed to act?"  
It really wasn't funny. Only then we _really_ couldn't stop laughing. And everyone was giving us these really mean looks, and that just made me laugh harder. So we were sitting there, the dressiest people in the place, pretending to be comfortable in the hard plastic chairs and trying not to laugh, but doing it anyway....  
At least until all these cops came in. They were there to check on one of their bomb squad dogs, which had choked on a chicken bone. One of them saw Troy and went, "Hey, Bolton, what are _you_ doing here?"  
That's when Troy stopped laughing. He got very red all of a sudden and went, "Oh, hi, Sergeant Blake."  
He put a very hard stress on the word Sergeant. Sergeant Blake looked quite taken aback. He started to say something. But right then the vet came out and called, "Mr. Evans?"  
Troy jumped up and said, "That's me," and rushed up to the vet.  
The vet told us that Tweedledee had, indeed, swallowed a rubber band, and that it was tangled in his small intestine, and that surgery would be necessary or the cat would definitely die. They were willing to do the surgery at once, only it was very costly, 1,500 dollars, plus 200 for the overnight stay at the hospital.  
1,700! I was shocked. But Troy just nodded and reached for his wallet and started to pull out a credit card....  
And then he puts it away really fast and said he forgot, all his credit cards were maxed out, and that he would just got to the bank and get cash.  
Cash! He was going to pay in cash! 1,700 dollars in cash! For a cat!  
Only I reminded him that you can't get that much cash from a bank machine in a single day. I said, "Let me put it on my card, and you can pay me back later." (I know what you're going to say, Taylor, but it isn't true: He would've paid me back, I know it.)  
But he absolutely refused. And the next thing I knew, he'd gone over to the cashier to arrange a payment plan, leaving me alone with the vet and all of the cops, who were still standing staring at me. Don't ask me why. Undoubtedly my too-short skirt was to blame.  
Then Troy came back and said it was all taken care of, and the cops left, and the vet suggested we stay until the surgery was over just in case there was any complications, so we went back to our seats and I went, "Why'd that policeman call you Bolton?"  
And Troy went, "Oh, that's just how cops are, they always make up their own nicknames for people."  
But I got thee feeling that there was something that he wasn't telling me.  
He must have realized it, too, because he told me that I didn't have to stick around and wait with him, that he'd pay for a cab home for me, and that he hoped I'd take a raincheck on dinner.  
So I asked him if he was crazy, and he said he didn't believe so, and I said anyone with as many nicknames as he has definitely has some major problems, and he agreed with me, and then we argued pleasantly for about two hours about which serial killers were the most deranged, and finally the vet came out and said Tweedledee was recovering nicely and we could go home, and so we left.  
It wasn't too late to get dinner by Manhattan standards—only ten o'clock—and Troy was all for it, even though we'd missed the reservation at wherever he'd planned on taking me. But I wasn't up for battling the late-night supper crowd, and he agreed and said, "Want to order Chinese again or something?" And I said it would probably be a good idea to comfort Buffy and Mr. Peepers, who were surely unsettled by their missing feline brother. Plus I had read in the _TV Guide_ that _The Matrix _was showing on PBS.  
So we went back to his place—or his aunt's place, I should say—and ordered moo shu pork again, and the food arrived just as the movie was starting, and so we ate off of Mrs. Evans' coffee table, sitting on her comfy black leather couch, on which I dropped not one but two spring rolls covered in that orange stuff.  
Which was, incidentally, when he started kissing me. Seriously. I was apologizing for getting that orangestuff all over his aunt's couch when he leaned over, _stuck his knee in it_, and started kissing me.  
I haven't been that shocked since my tutor student did almost the same thing, you know the one in our freshman year in high school. Only there wasn't ant orange gunk and we'd been talking about integers, not paper towels.  
And let me tell you, Ryan Evans is a way better kisser than my tutor student ever was. I mean, he has got the kissing thing down pat. I was afraid the top of my head was going to blow off. Seriously. He's _that_ good of a kisser.  
Or maybe he isn't that good of a kisser. Maybe it's just been so long since anybody has kissed me like he meant it—you know _really_ mean it—that I forgot what kissing is like.  
Troy kisses like he means it. _Really _means it.  
Still, when he stopped kissing me, I was in such a state of head spinning shock that all I could do was blurt out, "What did you do _that_ for?" which probably sounded rude, but he didn't take it that way. He went, "Because I wanted to."  
So I thought about that for like a split second, and then I reached up and put my arms around hi neck and said, "Good."  
Then I did some kissing of my own. And it was really nice because Mrs. Evans' couch is very comfy and soft, and Troy kind of sank down onto me and I kind of sank down into the couch, and we kissed for a very long time. In fact, we kissed until Buffy decided he needed to go out, and stuck his big wet nose between out foreheads.  
That's when I realized I better get out of there. First of all, you know what are mothers always said about kissing before the third date. And second of all, not to gross you out, but there was some very interesting stuff happening downstairs, if you know what I mean.  
And Ryan Evans is definitely NOT gay. Gay guys do not get full on stiffies from kissing girls. This much even a small-town girl from the South knows.  
So, while Troy was cursing Buffy put. FYI: That boy can swear like no tomorrow. I was composing myself and saying, "Well, thank you very much for the lovely evening, but I think I have to go now," and then I tore out of there while he was still going, "Gabby, we have to talk."  
I didn't wait. I couldn't. I had to get out while I still had control over my motor functions. I am telling you, Taylor, this guy's kisses are enough to numb your brain stem, they're that good.  
So what's to talk about?  
Well, there's one thing: Taylor, I'm letting you know right now. I am bringing a date to your wedding.  
Gotta go. Fingers are cramping up from writing too much, and I still have tomorrow's column to do. I can't believe Vanessa and I both have guys at the same time! It's like how she and Ashley are going out with Zac and Jared—only better! Because it's me!

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject:** I hope at the very least

You let him pay for the Chinese food.

Tay

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez

**Subject: **Well of course

He paid for the Chinese food. Well, except the tip. He didn't have any singles.  
Why are you being this way? I had a great time. I thought it was sweet.  
And it's not like I let him feel me up or anything for God's sake.

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject:** I just think

That this is all happening too fast. I've never even met the guy. No offense, Gab, but you don't have the greatest track record where men are concerned—Jason only being example number one.  
I'm just saying I might feel a little more comfortable about all of this if I had actually met the guy. We've heard some pretty sketchy things about him from Sharpay, after all. How do you expect me to feel? You're like that baby sister I've never had. I just want to make sure you don't get hurt.  
So could you get him to come pick you up for lunch one of these days? I'd be more than willing to forgo spinning class....  
Don't hate me.

Tay

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **You are such

A mother hen.  
But, yes, if you insist, I suppose I could arrange for the two of you to bump into another somehow.  
God, the things we do for our friends.

Gabby

**I AM SO SORRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I couldn't update at all when I was in Texas….i'm so sorry!!!!!!!!!! You should be getting some quick updates soon.**

**This chapter is dedicated to **_laughnsmile96_ **she is such a sweetie!!!!! **

**Disclaimer: Don't own jacksquat **

**Calli :)****  
**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 11  
By: msbball8 aka Calli**

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Marie Smith Bolton**  
Subject: **Your recent behavior

Dear Troy,

This is your grandmother speaking. Or should I say writing. I suppose you will be surprised to hear from me in this manner. I have chosen this venue, the e-mail, in which to correspond, because you have not answered a single one of my telephone calls, and your brother, Dylan, assures me that while you may not check your answering machine, you do occasionally answer e-mail messages.  
Therefore, to business:  
I can forgive the fact that you have thrown caution to the wind and embark on your career in a field that, frankly, no respectable Bolton—or Smith, either, for that matter—would ever consider. You have proved to me that not all news reporters are cockroaches.  
And I can forgive for choosing not to touch any of the money that has been held in trust for you since your grandfather's death. A man should make his own way in the world, if at all possible, and not depend on his family for his means. I applaud you effort to do just that. It has far more than any of my other grandchildren have done. Look at your cousin Dickie. I'm certain if that boy had a vocation like you do, Troy, he wouldn't spend so much time putting things up his nose that have no business being there.  
And I can even forgive you for choosing to move out of the building and live on your own, first in that hellhole on 37th with that hairy lunatic, and then where you currently reside, in Brooklyn, which I'm told is the most charming of the five boroughs, aside from the collapsing supermarket.  
But what I simply cannot forgive you for is for missing the dedication the other night. You know how much my benefits mean to me. This cancer wing I've donated is particularly important to me, as you know that cancer took your beloved grandfather from me. I understand that you might have had a previous commitment, but you could, at least, have had the courtesy to have sent a note.  
I will not lie to you, Troy. I most particularly wanted you at this event because there is a certain young lady I was very anxious for you to know. I know, I know how you feel about my introducing you to my friends' eligible daughters. But Susan Arbuthnot, whom I'm sure you will remember from your childhood summers on the Vineyard—the Arbuthnots had that place in Chilmark—has grown into an attractive young lady—she had even overcome that horrible chin problem that has plagued so many of the Arbuthnots.  
And she is, from what I understand a real go-getter in the investment market. Since career-minded women have always appealed to you, I made an effort to ensure that Susan would be at the dedication the other night.  
What a fool you made me look, Troy! I had to pawn Susan off to you cousin Bob. And you know how I feel about _him_.  
I know you price yourself on being the black sheep of the family, Troy—though what is supposed to be so enraging about a man who works for a living, doing what it is he actually likes to do, I cannot imagine. Your cousins, with their various addictions and unsuitable pregnancies, are far more maddening.  
However, this type of behavior is really quite bewildering, even for you. All I can say is that I hope you do have a very good explanation. Furthermore, I hope you will take the time to respond to this letter. It is very rude of you not to have returned my calls.  
Yours, in spite of that,

Mim

**To: **Marie Smith Bolton  
**From: **Troy Bolton  
**Subject: **Forgive me?

Mim-

What can I say? You have made me thoroughly ashamed of myself. It was unconscionable of me to not return your calls. My only explanation is that I have not been checking my answering machine as frequently as I used to, due to the fact that, recently, I have been staying in the apartment. Well, not my friend—my friend's aunt, to be exact, who has been hospitalized, and needed someone to care for her pets.  
Although after what happened to one of her cats recently, I am not convinced that I am the best person for the job.  
Anyway, I want you to know that I did not fail to attend that dedication out of some disdain for you or the event. I just had something else to do. Something very important.  
Which reminds me: Susie Arbuthnot better not be holding her breath waiting for me, Mim. I've actually met someone.  
And no, it isn't anyone you know, unless you are familiar with the Montezes of Paris, Texas. Which I suspect you're not.  
I know, I know. After the Brittany debacle, you'd given up on me for good. Well, it takes a lot more to keep a man like me down than finding out that a girl that I hadn't proposed to yet had already registered as the future Mrs. Troy Bolton at Bloomingdale's (and for 1,000 dollar sheets, no less).  
But before you start clamoring to meet her, allow me to work out a few....kinks. No romantic relationship in New York City is ever simple, but this one is even more complicated than most.  
I am confident, however, that I can work it out. I _have_ to work it out.  
I just don't have the slightest idea how I'm going to manage it.  
Anyway, with many loving apologies, I hope you'll still consider me sincerely

Your Troy

P.S.: To make it up to you, I'll be at the Lincoln Center Benefit to Raise Cancer Awareness next week, since I know you're its biggest supporter. I'll even tap into the old trust fund and write a check with a guaranteed four zeros. Will that help soothe your ruffled feathers?

**To: **Gabby Montez  
**From: **Greg and Maria Montez  
**Subject: **Look out!

Hi, honey, it's Mommy again, writing you on the e-mail. I hope you are being careful because I saw last night on the news that _another_ one of those sinkholes has opened up in Manhattan. This one right in front of a newspaper, no less!  
Don't worry though; it's that newspaper you hate, the snooty one. Still, think about it, sweetie that could have been you sitting in that taxi that fell into that twenty-foot-deep hole! Except I know you don't take taxis because you spend all your money on clothes.  
But that poor lady! Why, it took three fireman to get her out (you are so tiny, it would only take one to get you out, I would think).  
Anyway, I just wanted to say BE CAREFUL! Be sure to look down everywhere you go—but look up, too, since I heard that people's air conditioners sometimes go flying out of their windows if they aren't fastened securely, and can go crashing onto the pedestrians below.  
That city is so fraught with peril. Why can't you come home and work for _The Paris News_? I saw Mabel Felps the other day at the HEB and she said she'd absolutely hire you as the Arts and Entertainment writer.  
Think about it, would you? There's nothing the least bit dangerous in Paris—no sinkholes or falling air conditioners or transvestite killers. Just the man who shot up all the customers at the feed store that time, but that was a decade ago.

Love,

Mommy

P.S.: You'll never guess what! One of your ex-boyfriends got married! I've attached that announcement for you to see.

Attachment: (Photo of total goober and a girl with very big hair)

_Crystal LeBeau and Joseph "Joe" Crawford both of Paris married at First Baptist Paris last Saturday. Parents of the bride are Pepper Jo and Brian LeBeau of Paris, owners of Longhorn Liquors on Main Street in downtown Paris. Parents of the groom are Barton and Amber Crawford. Amber Crawford is a homemaker. Barton Crawford is employed by Bauerle Auto.  
A reception was held at the Pine Hill Lodge, of which Mr. LeBeau is a member.  
The bride, 24, is a graduate of Paris High School and is currently employed at Janie & Co. Beauty Salon. The groom, 28, is a graduate of Paris High School and I employed by Longhorn Liquors.  
After a honeymoon in Maui, the couple will reside in Paris._

**To: **Dave Matusi  
**From: **Gabby Montez  
**Subject: **Office morale

Dear Dave,

In attempt to raise the morale around here, which I am sure you agree with me is—to coin a phrase you frequently employ-piss-poor, may I suggest that in lieu of the staff meeting this week we all take a stroll over to 53rd and Madison in order to admire the gigantic sinkhole that has opened up in front of the office building hoisting out for and maim competitor, the _New York Chronicle_?  
I'm sure you'll agree with me that this will constitute a refreshing change from the normal routine of listening to people complain about how ever since the local Krispy Kreme shut down and how we haven't been able to get decent doughnuts ever since.  
Plus, seeing as how all the water to the building in which the _Chronicle_ is housed in has been shut off, we will have the fun of seeing our self esteemed colleagues running into Starbucks to use their facilities.  
Please give this matter the full consideration it fully deserves.

Sincerely,

Gabby Montez  
Page Ten Correspondent  
New York Journal

**To: **Gabby Montez  
**From: **Dave Matusi  
**Subject: **Office morale

Are you high?

Dave

**To: **Taylor McKessie  
**From: **Gabby Montez  
**Subject: **A big giant hole in the ground

Come on. How can you resist? If you go with me to look at it, I won't make you go to spinning class today...

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez  
**From: **Taylor McKessie  
**Subject: **The big giant hole where your brain should be

You are insane. It is like 80 degrees out. I am not spending my precious lunch hour going to look at a big hole in the ground even if it _is_ next to the _Chronicle_.  
Ask Zeke Taylor. He'll go with you. He'll go anywhere men in uniform are gathered in large clusters.

Tay

**To: **Taylor McKessie  
**From: **Zeke Taylor  
**Subject: **I met him!

You lazy thing, you. If you'd gotten off your ass and come with us, you would have, as I did, met this fellow that out little Miss Gabby has been yakking nonstop about all month.  
But I suppose some of us think we're simply too god for sinkholes.

Zeke

**To: **Zeke Taylor  
**From: **Taylor McKessie  
**Subject: **YOU MET HIM???

Spill it, you little weasel.

Tay

**To: **Taylor McKessie  
**From: **Zeke Taylor  
**Subject: **What will you give me?

You fiery-spirited wench, you.

Zeke

**To: **Zeke Taylor  
**From: **Taylor McKessie  
**Subject: **I have to review the

New Bobby Flay place and I'll take you with me if you tell me all about meeting Ryan Evans.  
PUH-lease tell me. I'm begging you.

Tay

**To: **Taylor McKessie  
**From: **Zeke Taylor  
**Subject: **Twist my arm

Okay, I'll tell you. Only because I want to go to Bobby's new place for dinner, not lunch. That's when all the cute investment bankers will be there.  
All righty, then.  
Picture it if you will.  
The scene53rd and Madison. A forty-by-twenty foot hole has opened up in the middle of the street. Surrounding this hole are police barricades, orange caution cones, bulldozers, cement mixers, trucks, a crane, television news reporters, about a hundred cops, and twenty of the hottest construction workers this little computer programmer has ever seen.  
The noise of the jack hammers and honking of horns by unsuspecting commuters, who did not listen to the 92.3 WXRK traffic report before they left Jersey, is deafening. The heat is oppressive. And the smell, my dear—well, I don't know what those trucks were doing down at the bottom of that hole but, I strongly suspect they hit the wrong pipe.  
It was as if a proverbial hellhole had opened up, right before that bastion of all that is evil, the illustrious _New York Chronicle_, and attempted to suck it back down to its creator, Mr. Satan himself.  
And then, through it all, I saw the face of our Miss Gabby—who is, as I am sure you can guess, already giddy with joy at the spectacle in front of us—a look of such delight that I thought a Minters truck had just appeared, and was handing out free dipped cones.  
Then, following the direction of her dazzled gaze, I saw what had brought such a beatific look to her face:  
An Apollo, I am not exaggerating. An absolutely perfect specimen of manly beauty. He was standing behind one of the barricades, gazing into the hole, looking as if he had just stepped out of a J. Crew catalog in his baggy chinos and soft denim work shirt. The wind tugged softly at his brown hair, and I swear to you, Taylor if one of those construction workers had handed him a shovel, it wouldn't have looked the least bit out of place in his hands.  
Which is a lot more than I can say about _my_ boyfriend.  
But to return to our scene:  
Our Miss Gabby (screaming to be heard over the pounding of the jackhammers): "Troy! Troy! Over here!"  
Apollo turns. He sees us. He turns a deep but never the less attractive shade of umber.  
I follow our little Miss Gabby, picking her way through the police officers and outraged _Chronicle_ employees, who wearing their press passes, have descended on the poor souls from the mayor's office and are demanding to know when their private bidets—don't try to tell me they don't have them in those gold lined halls they work in—are going to be flowing again. Upon reaching the godlike creature she calls Troy, for reasons that are still a mystery to me, our Miss Gabby goes on in her usual breathless manner:

_Our Miss Gabby:_ "What are you doing here? Did you come to take pictures of the giant hole?"  
_Ryan Evans:_ "Um. Yes."  
_Our Miss Gabby: _"Where's your camera?"  
_Ryan Evans: _"Oh. Um. I forgot it."

Hmmm. Lights maybe on, but no one seems to be home. At least until—

_Ryan Evans: _Actually, I already got the shot I need. I was just out here because...well, you know I love a disaster."  
_Our Miss Gabby:_ "Do I! Here, meet my friend Zeke."

Friend Zeke shakes hands with Perfect Specimen of Mankind. Will never wash right hand again.

_Ryan Evans:_ "Hi. Nice to meet you."  
_Friend Zeke:_ "Likewise, I'm sure."  
_Our Miss Gabby: _"listen, I'm glad I ran into you." She then proceeds to throw all dating protocol to the wind by saying:

"All my friends want to check you out, so do you think could show up tomorrow night at Rano's on 10th street around nine o'clock? Just a bunch of people from the paper, don't be alarmed."

I _know_! I was horrified as well! I mean, what could she have been _thinking_? You simply do not go around admitting things like that to prospective paramours. What happened to subtlety? What happened to feminine wiles? To boldly blurt the truth like that...well, I'll tell you: I was appalled. It just goes to show you, you can take the girl out of the South, but you can't take the South out of the girl.  
Mr. Evans, I could tell, was every bit as shocked as I was. He went almost as white as he'd been red a minute before.

_Ryan Evans:_ "Um. Okay."  
_Our Miss Gabby:_ "Great. See you then."  
_Ryan Evans:_ "Sure thing."

Exit our Miss Gabby. Exit Friend Zeke. When I glanced over my shoulder, Ryan Evans had disappeared—a remarkable feat, considering that there was nowhere on that side of that hole to go to except into the _Chronicle_ building.  
But he can't have gone in _there._ His soul would have been ripped instantly from his body while demons sucked out his life force.  
Anyway, that's all. I fully expect to see you at Rano's tonight at nine. And _don't _be late.

Zeke

**To: **Sharpay Baylor, Dave Matusi, Kylie Mayer, Jimmy Chu, Brayden Armstrong, Lorraine Smith, Taylor Wilson  
**From: **Taylor McKessie  
**Subject: **Gabby

All right, you guys, you've heard the hype; now let's see if he lives up to it. The place is Rano's. The time is nine o'clock. Be there, or tomorrow at the water cooler you won't know what the rest of us are talking about.

Tay

**To: **Ryan Evans  
**From: **Troy Bolton  
**Subject: **New York Journal

All right, tell me, and tell me quick:  
Who do you know from the _New York Journal?_  
I want names, Evans. I want a list of names, and I want it NOW.

Troy

**To: **Troy Bolton  
**From: **Ryan Evans  
**Subject: **New York Journal

So, you're stooping to speak to me again, I see. Not so high and might now, are you? I though I'd mortally _offended_ you with my thoughtfully crafted precepts on womankind.  
I knew you'd come crawling back.  
So what is this you want to know? Do I know anyone at the _New York Journal_? What are you, nuts? You're the only journalist I hang out with. I can't stand those pseudo-intellectual phonies. Think they're so great just because they string a few words together to form a sentence.  
Why do you want to know anyway?  
Hey, Bolton, you aren't actually going out in public pretending to be me, are you? I mean, you're just doing the whole impersonation within my aunt's building, right? With that chick who was so mad about having to walk the dog?

Right?  
RIGHT???

Ryan

**To: **Troy Bolton  
**From: **Ryan Evans  
**Subject: **New York Journal

Wait, I forgot. I do know this one babe. Sharpay something. I think she's with the _Journal_. You're not meeting _her,_ are you?

Ryan

**To: **Troy Bolton  
**From: **Marie Smith Bolton  
**Subject: **Miss Montez

Dearest Troy,

Well, well, well. A _gossip_ columnist, no less. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. I was thinking at worst she'd turn out to be a "grad" student. You know, one of those horrid longhaired girls you sometimes see in Central Park, reading Shakespeare on a park bench with the sandals and the glasses and the "backpacks."  
But a _gossip columnist_. Now really, Troy. What can you be thinking? Did you think I wouldn't find out? More fool you! It was easy. A simple phone call to the Montezes of Paris, Texas. I pretended I was one of those family-tree-tracers. You know, a Montez way back from when the Mayflower landed. Oh, they were just so eager to tell me all about the farm and their precious little Gabby, who's moved to the big city, dontcha know. And not just any big city, either, but the biggest one in the world, Noo York City,  
Honestly, Troy.  
Well, you'd better bring her around so we can all get a look at her. Next week would be fine. After the benefit, though, Troy. I am really quite solidly booked until then.

All my love,

Mim

**To: **Troy Evans  
**From: **Dylan Bolton  
**Subject: **Mim

Just a heads up to let you know Mim's on the warpath about you missing the dedication.  
Plus, although I don't know this for certain, she seems to have found out about the brunette.  
Don't look at me. I didn't tell her. I still think you're out of your mind to have agreed to this thing in the first place.  
Megan, on the other hand, wants to know whether or not you took her advice.

Dylan

P.S.: Saw on the news about the sinkhole in front of your office building. My sympathies on the whole toilet situation.  
P.P.S.: I'm sorry I called you a psychotic freak. Even though you are one.  
P.P.P.S.: Forgot to tell you: Because of all this, Megan has gotten her own e-mail account. She got tired of sharing mine.

**To: **Dylan Bolton  
**From: **Troy Bolton  
**Subject: **You can call me...

anything you want. I don't mind.  
And don't worry about Mim. I don't mind about that either.  
And I kind of like that sinkhole. I have a genuine affection for it. In fact, I'll be sad when they finally fill it in.  
Oops, there's just been a triple stabbing in Inwood. Gotta go.

Troy

**To: **Megan Bolton  
**From: **Dylan Bolton  
**Subject: **Troy

Megs-

Something is wrong with Troy. I called him a psychotic freak last week, and he doesn't even care. Plus I warned him about Mim, and he said he doesn't care about that either!  
He doesn't even care about the sinkhole and the fact that there are no working toilets in his building.  
This happened to my cousin Bob that time he swallowed the worm at the bottom of a tequila bottle down in Mexico. He had to spend a month in rehab!  
What should we do?

Dylan

**To: **Dylan Bolton  
**From: **Megan Bolton  
**Subject: **Troy

Dylan-

Before you have your poor brother hauled off to rehab, let me see if I can get anything out of him. He might be more willing to open up to me, seeing how I don't go around calling him names.

Kisses,

Megan

**To: **Troy Bolton  
**From: **Megan Bolton  
**Subject: **You took my advice, didn't you?

Don't deny it. You called her. So spill.  
And don't leave anything out. I am thirty-two years old, which puts me, as a woman, at my sexual peak. I am also so pregnant that I haven't seen my own feet in weeks. The only way I can have sex is vicariously.  
So start tapping on that keyboard, monkey boy.

Megan

**Ok, I meant to get this up earlier but….things happened. I will probably try to get another chapter out later on today but, I have church at 5:30 so it might not happen….I don't know. Now I know that this chapter was a big fat filler. I think it's crap….you can agree with me if you want. **

**Well, right now I'm listening to my brand new Ipod that I got for my birthday. That was….2 days ago. Who else doesn't want to go to school tomorrow???**

**OH!!!! Ok, I have 2 stories that I absolutely LOVE. That I am going to tell you about. **

_**Good Comes Last by laughnsmile96**_

_**Her Wedding by Zanessaloverocks x3**_

**These stories are AWESOME!!! If you haven't read them….GO!!! Once you get done reading this author's note go check them out!!!!! Pwease :)**

**OH!!!! In case you were wondering about how many chapters were left in this story I'd guess maybe 15-20-ish…I really don't know though. That's just an estimate. So I hope that answers your question Bailey. **

**Speaking of Bailey!!!!!! Bailey you are the sweetest person ever!!!!!!!!!! She was talking to me earlier as I was writing this. We were both kinda bored….and frustrated..(we couldn't think of anything to talk about ********). I am so sorry that I totally bolted like that...i had to go…..SORRY!!!!**

**ANYWAY…Sorry for the long-ass authors note.**

**Review?? Pwease ******** As a birthday present????**

**Calli ******


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 12**

**By: msbball8 aka Calleigh**

**To: **Megan Bolton**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject: **Monkey boy responds

You sure do talk racy for a full-time housewife and mother of two (and a half). Do the other mommies on the PTA have their minds in the gutter, too? That must make for some interesting bake sales.

For your information, what you're assuming has happened...has not.

And if things continue in the way they have been, it never will, either.

I don't know what it is about this girl. I know I'm not the most suave of men. I don't think that anyone who has ever met me would classify me as a playboy. But nor have I been accused of being a complete imbecile.

And yet when I'm around Gabby, that's exactly how I end up looking—probably out of divine punishment for the fact that, since I met her, I've done nothing but pretty much lie to her.

Whatever it is, I can't seem to pull off something as simple as _dinner_ between us. As you know, my first attempt ended with us eating pizza standing up (and her paying for her own slice).

My second attempt was even worse: We spent most of the evening in an _animal_ hospital. And then I very elegantly added insult to injury when I sexually harassed her on Ryan Evans aunt's couch. She fled, in romance-novel language, like a startled fawn. As well she should have: I'm sure I must have seemed like a teenager in postprom heat.

Is this satisfying your wish to live vicariously through my romantic adventures, Megan? Are those toes you haven't seen in so long curling with excitement?

I almost broke down and told her after the couch incident. I wish to God now that I had. Things have only gone from bad to worse.

Because everyday that I don't tell her is just another day she's going to hate me, when she finally figures it out.

And she _will_ figure it out. I mean one of these days, my luck is going to run out, and someone who knows Ryan Evans is going to tell her that I'm not him, and she's not going to understand when I try to explain, because it's all so childish, and she's going to hate me, and my life's going to be over.

Because for some unfathomable reason, instead of strongly disliking me, like any woman in her right mind would, Gabby seems to actually _like_ me. I can't for the life on me figure out why. I mean, you would think that, considering what she knows of me—or Ryan Evans, I should say—she'd hate my guts.

But no. On the contrary: Gabby laughs at my idiotic jokes. Gabby listens to my unintelligent stories. And she apparently talks about me to her friends and colleagues, because a group of them demanded to meet me.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, _Why on earth did he go?_

And I can't tell you why I went. When she asked me about it, it was in front of my office building, where she seemed to appear as from nowhere. I was so shocked to see her—so scared someone was going to call me by name—that I think I froze, even though it was about 80 outside. The sun was shining, and there was noise and confusion everywhere, and suddenly, she was just there, with her hair shininh all around her head like a halo, and her big brown eyes blinking up at me. I think I would have said yes if she had asked me to sleep on a nail bed for the rest of my life.

And there was nothing I could do about it. I mean, I'd already said yes. I couldn't cancel on her,

So I ran around like a chicken with his head cut off, trying to figure out if Ryan knew anyone from the _Journal._

Then I went and met them and they were suspicious, but for Gabby they pretended not to be, since she is clearly someone they all adore. By the end of the evening, we were all the best of friends.

But only because the one woman who actually knows Ryan didn't show up.

I didn't find that out, of course, until I got there, and Gabby said, "Oh, Sharpay Baylor—you know Sharpay—she couldn't make it, on account of how she's got ballet tickets tonight. But she says hi."

See? See how close I came? It's only a matter of time.

So what do I do? If I tell her, she'll hate me, and I'll never see her again. If I don't tell her, eventually she'll find out, and then she'll hate me, and I'll never see her again.

After her friends left, Gabby proposed we take a walk along Tenth Street before catching a cab back to the building. So we walked along.

And as we walked, she took my hand, and we just strolled along like that, and as we walked, I was struck by a horrible realization: that _never in my life_ had I walked along the street holding a girl's hand and felt like I did then...which was happy.

And that's because every other time a girl has grabbed my hand, it's been to drag me toward a store window so she could point to something she wanted me to buy for her. _Every other time. _

I know it sounds horrible, like I'm feeling sorry for myself, or whatever, but I'm not. I'm just telling you the truth.

That's actually the horrible part, Megs. That it's true.

And now I'm supposed to tell her? Tell her who I am?

I don't think I can.

Could you?

Troy

**To: **Dylan Bolton**  
From:** Megan Bolton**  
Subject:** Troy

There's nothing wrong with your brother, silly. He's in love, that's all.

Megan

P.S.: We're out of Cheerios. Can you pick up a box on the way home tonight?

**To: **Megan Bolton**  
From: **Dylan Bolton**  
Subject: **My brother

Troy? In love? With who? The brunette?

BUT SHE DOESN'T EVENKNOW HIS REAL NAME!!!

And this is alright with you???

Has everyone in this family gone completely mental?

Dylan

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **Tell me again

Come on. Just one more time.

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject: **No

I will not.

Tay

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **Come on

Tell me. You know you want to. You OWE it to me.

Gabby

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject: **God, you are a weirdo,

and really starting to annoy me. But alright, I'll tell you. But this is the last time.

Ok. Here we go.

You are right. Ryan Evans is very nice. We were all wrong about him. I apologize. I owe you a Frappuccino.

Satisfied?

Tay

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject:** A grande,

with skim milk. Don't forget.

Gabby

P.S.: Don't you just love the way the skin at the corners of his eyes gets all crinkled up when he smiles?

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject:** Now you're just

making me sick.

Seriously, was I like this when I first started seeing Chad? Because if I was, I don't understand why none of you shot me. Because this is nauseating. It really is. You've got to stop.

Tay

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Jason Cross**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

Yes, I know. I heard everyone talking about it by the water cooler. Apparently, Rano's was quite the place to be the other night.

Don't worry—I'm not upset that I wasn't invited. I quite understand why you might not have wanted me there.

And you shouldn't worry that I am now writing you with the intention of trying to win you back. I realize—at last—that you have found someone else.

I'm just writing to say how glad I am for you. Your happiness is all I've ever wished for.

And if you love him, well, that's all I need to hear. Because for you to love someone. Gabriella, I know he would have to be a truly good person. A man who shows you the kind of respect you deserve. A man who won't ever let you down.

I just want you to know, Gabriella, that I would have done just about anything in the world to be that manfor you. I really mean that. If it hadn't been for Kelsi...

But now is not the time or place for what-would-have-beens.

Just know that I am thinking of you, and am pleased to see you so radiant with happiness. You deserve it, more than anyone else I have ever known.

Jason

**To: **Jason Cross**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

Thanks, Jason. That was a very sweet message, and it meant a lot to me.

Gabby

P.S.: I'm sorry to have to bring this up, but I know it was you who took the Xena Warrior Princess action figure off the top of my computer. The new fax guy saw you do it, Jason.

I want her back. _I don't want to know what you did with her._ I just want her back. Ok?

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Sharpay Baylor**  
Subject: **Your new beau

It is so like you, honey, to show off your shiny new trinket on the one night I couldn't make it to the unveiling. It isn't fair. When is he going to come by and take you to lunch? So I can come by and say hello. It's been do long I hardly remember what he looks like. Maybe I should just pop by the Whitney for a little refresher.

XXXOOO

Sharpay

**To: **Taylor McKessie**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **Nude photo

OH, MY GOD!!!

I forgot all about that self-portrait of Ryan Evans that is supposedly hanging in the Whitney!

The one of him nude!!!

WHAT DO I DO??? I mean, I cant go LOOK at it, can I? That is so sleazy!

Gabby

P.S.: Just thinking about it is giving me a headache.

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Taylor McKessie**  
Subject: **Oh, please

Of course you can go look at it. Which is sleazier, you looking at it, or him taking it and letting them put it up for all the world to see?

But whatever. Get your purse and follow me. We'll forgo spinning for a bit of culture, courtesy of the Whitney Museum of American Art.

Tay

P.S.: Your headache is from the Frappuccino. They do that to me, too.

**To: **Megan Bolton**  
From: **Troy Bolton**  
Subject:** I need your

recipe for crab-stuffed flounder. I have decided that since every time I try to take her put, it is a complete disaster, I will simply cook a meal for her instead, in the privacy of my own home.

Or Ryan Evans aunt's home, or whatever.

Who knows, maybe I'll even work up the courage to tell her the truth about me.

Probably not, though.

Also, how do you make those little bread thingies with the tomatoes on top?

Troy

**To: **Troy Bolton**  
From: **Megan Bolton**  
Subject:** My bread thingies

I can assume you mean bruschetta. You toast baguette rounds, then rub the toasted slices with garlic. Then you cut up a bunch of tomatoes and you...

Oh, for God's sake, Troy, just call Patsy's and order it, like a normal person. Then you pretend you made it yourself. You think I can cook? Ha! My roast chicken? Whole Foods. My crab-stuffed flounder? Fresh Catch. My hand-cut fries? Frozen from a bag!

Now you know. Don't tell Dylan. It will spoil the magic.

Megan

**To: **Sharpay Baylor**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **Ryan Evans

Dear Sharpay,

Laugh all you want. I don't happen to think it's amusing.

I can't say his parents were particularly responsible either, giving a five-year old a camera and then letting him play with it in the bathtub. He could've been electrocuted, or something.

Besides, that photo doesn't even look like him.

Gabby

P.S.: I blame YOU for the fact that I am clearly getting sick. You caused me all that anxiety and made me susceptible to this crappy flu bug that is going around.

**To: **Gabby Montez**  
From: **Sharpay Baylor**  
Subject: **Oh, pooh

You know how much I love to tease you. You're like the little mentally retarded sister I never had.

Just kidding, honey, just kidding.

Besides, instead of rallying against me, you should feel sorry for me. I'm hopelessly in love with your Jason, and he'll hardly give me the time of day. He just sits in his little cubicle and look at his screen saver he's had made from a photo of the two of you. It's so pathetic, it almost makes me want to cry.

Except that ever since I had my lids done, I've been physically incapable of crying.

By the way, what's up with the skirt you have on? It makes you look fat.

XXXOOO

Sharpay

P.S.: Could you stop coughing so loud? It's aggravating my hangover.

**To: **Dave Matusi**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **My health

Dear Dave,

I am writing this from home to let you know I will not be in today due to the fact I have woken up with a sore throat, fever, and runny nose.

I left the pages on your desk last night and there's plenty for Rob to use tomorrow. Tell him it's all in the green file folder on my desk.

If you have any questions, you know where to find me.

Gabby

P.S.: PLEASE tell Martha Cox down in HR that the reason I haven't logged on today is because I'm out sick! She counted my last sick day as a tardy and it went on my personnel file!

P.P.S.: Can you make sure my Xena Warrior Princess action figure is back on my coputer monitor? Somebody took it, but he's supposed to put it back. Just let me know whether or not he has.

Thanks,

Gabby

**To: **Greg and Maria Montez**  
From: **Gabby Montez**  
Subject: **My last will and testament

Hi. I'm writing to let you know that I have a terrible cold and I'm probably going to die. If I do, I want you to know that I'm leaving you and Daddy all the money in my 401K. Please use it to make sure that Josh and Cody go to college. I know they won't want to go to college, seeing as how they both plan on playing in the MLB when they grow up, but just in case professional sports doesn't pan out, they should at least be able to get a semester or two out of my 24,324.57.

Please give Crystal, Joe's new wife. She looks like she could use them.

I don't know what to do with my Barbie collection. Maybe Zack and Cristyn will have a girl next, and you can give them to her.

My only other worldly possessions are my books. Would you see that in event of my demise they all go to my next door neighbor, Troy? Actually his real name is Ryan. You would like him, Mom. All the people from my office met him, and like him. He is very funny and sweet.

And no, Mom, we are not sleeping together.

Don't ask me why not though. I mean, don't let Daddy read this, but I'm starting to wonder if something's wrong with me. Besides the fact that I have this cold, I mean. Because Troy and I only made out this one time, and since then nothing, nada, zipola.

Maybe I'm a bad kisser. That's probably it. That's probably why every guy from Joe on has ended up dumping me. I'm a lousy kisser. I'm short, I have an impossibly small bladder, and I'm a bad kisser.

Let's just face the facts: When I was born, Mom, did the doctor ever mention the words _genetic mutation?_ Did he ever mention...oh, I don't know. The term _biological sport_?

Because that's what I think I am. Oh I know: Zack turned out alright. I guess he doesn't lack the kissing chromosome I evidently do. Either that or Cristyn's just a bad kisser, too, and couldn't tell the difference.

I don't suppose—AHHH! Someone's at the door!

It's Troy! And I look horrible! Mom, I gotta go....

Gabby

**I AM SO SORRY!!!!!!! I know, I know it's late. I know it's short. I really don't have anything else to say except….**

**HIT THAT GREEN BUTTON!!! AND REVIEW!!!!**

**Pwease :)**

**Calleigh…oh!!! Check out my profile!!!**


	14. You're going to kill me

**Ok. I know you're all about to kill me. I know you probably thought I updated but sadly I didn't. I won't be updating for a while as much as it pains me to say that but it's true. One of my best friends EVER and I got into a huge fight…it sucks. He's blaming something on me that I had no control over and he won't let me explain. So, my mind's focused on that right now and anything I write will be sad and depressing and I don't want it to be. Importance, It Varies With People is coming to an end. It's kind of sad because that's my first story…  
*sniffle* *sniffle*. MBND…I really don't know when I'll get the next chapter of that up…I've got a new story idea in my head. I'll publish it once Importance, It Varies With People is done. I don't know when that will be. Because…..well it's complicated. And on top of all that drama my parents are fighting left and right. My house is crazy right now. And then my school's Valentine's Day dance is a Sadie Hawkins dance. I don't have that much confidence in myself so this REALLY sucks. And I have 5 tests on Friday. A math, science, lang. arts, social studies, and an honors test. So I'm really busy. And if you've stuck with me this long I truly adore you. There are a few people I would like to thank who have stuck with me and been really just all around sweet people.**

_laughnsmile96:_** You are one of the sweetest people ever!!! You help me just about every time I ask for it…which is very often. You review every chapter of both of my stories. You are a truly great human being and any boy who is lucky enough to get you for life he is extremely lucky.**

_Zanessaloverocks x3: _**Bailey….Bailey. How can I describe you??? I don't think there are enough words in the dictionary to describe you. You are one of the sweetest and funniest people I've ever come across. Loyal too. You have stuck with me through just about everything. You rock!**

**Again I'm super sorry…**

**Calleigh **


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